


Your Voice on the Radio

by insomniz



Category: Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Radio, And they were neighbours, Anxiety, English is not my mothertongue, Idiots to friends to lovers, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Radio, Ryan is a radio host, Sara is here too, Shane is a skeptical detective, Violence, and he is lowkey Ryan's biggest fan, first time posting a bfu fic, idk? spooky stuff 24/h, omg they were neighbours..., take a shot everytime shane curses/spills coffee
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-07
Updated: 2019-08-02
Packaged: 2020-01-06 05:50:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 31,687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18382259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/insomniz/pseuds/insomniz
Summary: "It’s Friday eleven PM and you’re on 104,8 fm, that can only mean one thing: welcome back on Radio Unsolved! This is Ryan Bergara, host of your favorite show, Unsolved: True Crime, aka the only show where theory rhymes with conspiracy."Oh shit, he has a cute voice, was the first thought that echoed in Shane’s mind. The second being: but he’s telling horse shit.Or how Shane Alexander Madej discovered a show and decided to educate - bully - the radio host.





	1. The Radio Guy

That was possibly the worst scenario that could be happening right now. And the day was only beginning.

Shane hated it already. He sighed loudly and contemplated all of his morning’s mistakes.

_Don’t read the newspaper, Madej, or you’ll end up spilling your goddamn coffee on your hand. Don’t jolt in surprise and slight pain, Madej, or you’ll knock out your mug already full of the hot brownish liquid which will stain your shirt. Don’t take too much time trying to get it off, Madej, or you’ll realize that you’re ten minutes late to work. Don’t run in the stairs of your apartment, Madej, or you’ll hit your head on that beam that’s too low. Don’t storm into the lift grumbling swear words, or you’ll very awkwardly meet your hot new neighbor who will give you an amused look._

Yeah, that was a hell of an impression for one single unlucky bastard like you. Here goes your intention to start a normal conversation with him, flirt with him and eventually get his phone number. And why were all of these sarcastic remarks made by the voice of his boss in his head? He had to seriously reconsider his life.

Now he was stuck in the lift he wanted very dearly to exit because that hot neighbor had just decided to appear out of nowhere and enter it, catching Shane’s breath in his chest and making him lose any notion of time and space.

The worst was that it wasn’t their first meeting. Him and Shane had crossed paths a few weeks prior to this awkward meeting, in the staircase. Shane was coming back from work way sooner than usual - Sara wouldn’t let him fall asleep on his paperwork again at 3 AM - and the lift was out of order. That hot neighbour was apparently going for a jogging, and most importantly he was wearing a tight t-shirt that showed the curve of his muscles.

The god of hot neighbors and muscular silhouettes had finally answered his calls.

He even allowed himself to check his butt afterwards, but only for some seconds. He had to hide that ominous blush to his cheeks and back of his neck. And not only was the new neighbour hot, but he was also damn cute. He had had that little grin upon seeing Shane for the first time, his face had crinkled up and his eyes had shined with what resembled pure joy. But this had lasted two seconds, and he had disappeared around the corner of the staircase, never to be seen again.

Except for this very day. Shane reached out for the button to open the doors again. The only problem was that he reached at the same time as his neighbor, and their hands touched - only for a milli-second, mind you - and Shane felt the treason of the blush on the back of his neck again. He had never been more embarrassed than in this precise situation. A part of him wanted to grab that beautiful hand and never let it go, and another part of him wanted to escape this very lift while screaming at the top of his lungs. He thus went with the latter, immediately pulling his hand off, and it made it seem like he was politely letting his neighbor choose where to go first, when he really wanted not to lose anymore time. And that son of a bitch cute neighbor took the opportunity to push the "8" button.

_Na serio?_

Shane tried to repress the will to shout another Polish swear word again, keeping his eyes on his shoes since the thought of that angelic glance his neighbor just gave him was haunting him. He couldn’t return a look. Not now when he was trying so hard to recollect himself.

Shane was under the terrible impression to have been broken down in shambles and now he had to pick all the pieces under the eyes of the cute neighbor. They would have to go through eight floors together, the tall idiot with his coffee-stained white shirt and the hot neighbor who was like, two feets below him but still so cute. This lift was basically leading Shane to Hell and Heaven at the same time.

 _If he talks to me, I’ll probably scream_ , Shane thought, incredibly uncomfortable.

They were so, so close. It would be so easy to just turn a bit, bend a bit, kiss his pink lips a bit. The thought made him suffocate, and he hid it with a cough. Why the fuck was his mind picturing this right now? He felt the curious look the neighbour was giving him, but refused to answer. He could not, not now when he was burning up with shame and shyness and love and All the oxygen in the lift seemed to disappear, leaving Shane with no possibility to breathe. Okay now say something Madej. But the only thought that was racing his mind at the moment was: "I wonder which color his eyes are." If they were in some kind of romantic bullshit movie, he would already have swept that cute neighbor from his feet to kiss him. Which wouldn’t be too hard, considering said neighbor was so small. And then he could have all the time to contemplate his eyes, which would be opened in great surprise.

Shane slapped his brow with his palm, forgetting the neighbor was standing next to him and still observing him in silence. Stop thinking about kissing him, you freak. Think about something normal, for once. Work. He was late for work and his boss would lecture him again and Sara would make fun of his stained shirt and he would tell her that he had just met an angel in the lift.

The doors opened. On Hell? Heaven? No, the eighth floor. He observed the cute neighbor exit the lift and disappear again without a word, just a big and long sigh. Again, he had said nothing important. Nothing meaningful. Hadn’t even asked his name. He had just made a fool of himself, and now the neighbor was going to avoid him, like everyone else in this complex.

"Stupid cute-ass neighbor", he grumbled while pushing the "0" button. He had lost enough time already. But in his mind he kept repeating like the lyrics of a song: _"Eighth Floor, cute neighbor, eighth floor, cute neighbor."_ Gosh, he'd have given anything just to _hear_ his voice.

 

* * *

 

 

"It’s Friday eleven PM and you’re on 104,8 fm, that can only mean one thing: welcome back on Radio Unsolved! This is Ryan Bergara, host of your favorite show, Unsolved: True Crime, aka the only show where theory rhymes with conspiracy."

 _Oh shit, he has a cute voice_ , was the first thought that echoed in Shane’s mind. The second being: _but he’s telling horse shit_.

Sara was sitting at a desk next to him and listening absent-mindedly to the show on a tiny radio. She kept its sound low despite everyone else having left the office since a few hours ; she was only doing it for Shane, but he could hear every word coming out of it. Usually he didn’t mind and continued his work, unfazed. But today, Sara was listening to a new channel and his curiosity was peeked.

The voice coming from the radio was very pleasing to hear, literally radiating light and happiness as the guy kept rambling about the aim of his show. _This isn’t even prime time_ , Shane thought. _Calm down, my dude._ But said dude was quite literally on fire. A cute and excited voice - Shane could almost hear his smile -, but the fact that he was excited about pure bullshit made it infuriating. _Get a grip, Madej. You can’t have a crush on every guy in your perimeter. Especially not an idiot who believes in conspirations._

He returned to the case. The LAPD was going to give him more shit if he didn’t concentrate on his job, who was definitely more serious than the radio show of a conspirationist. He was almost done with it anyway. He heard without giving it that much attention the radio guy thank his "growing audience", saying it really helped him for some reasons Shane didn’t catch. Sara was giggling from time to time, scribbling on her own work.

"On today’s episode, we’ll tackle the mystery that lies within the horrifying slaughter at Hinterkaifeck," continued the radio guy without any consideration for Shane’s attention to his work.

The Hinterkaifeck Farm. Of course Shane knew about that unsolved case. Pretty gross, even the baby had been killed in his crib. Just one suspect, but the case was cold for decades now. What could possibly be so interessant about it that this dude had decided to talk about it and include some conspiracies in it?

"But what’s more is that the former maid claimed she had heard footsteps in the attic, voices, things like that, classic ghost story."

Giving up the perspective of reading in peace the case he was assigned, Shane gave Sara the Annoyed Look and lowered his glasses the way an old and severe teacher would.

"What the flying fuck is that?"

"Only the funniest shit I’ve ever heard. The guy’s crazy. You shouldn’t listen to it, it’s gonna ruin your night, I know you. I’m going to sit-"

"No, no, stay there. I wanna hear every word of it."

Putting down his paperwork, he scooted closer to Sara.

"Soon enough, the whole family was hearing strange sounds in their home, strange occurences were happening like footprints leading to the back of the house coming from the woods."

"This is bullshit," Shane groaned. "A ghost, murdering an entire family? Com’on..."

"The only suspect was their neighbor, Lorenz, but really they had nothing to prove he was guilty. That’s why we could consider a more supernatural theory-"

"Okay, I’m going now", Sara told him, grabbing her jacket and bag. "You should too, Shane. You’re not getting enough sleep and no hot neighbor of yours is gonna want to date you with these bags you got under your eyes."

"Wait. Can I borrow you this?" Shane answered, pointing the tiny radio that was still diffusing the dumb sweet voice of the radio guy.

"This old thing? Anytime. But I told you it would ruin your night. Now you’re gonna sit here all furious and hiss everytime this guy brings out a new theory."

"W-What? No I won’t! I just-"

Sara gave him a knowing smile.

"Okay, maybe so. And what if I do? This kind of shit keeps me fully awake. It’s even better than coffee!"

The young woman laughed at his remark and made her way to the exit.

"Don’t stay up too late, or you’ll end up calling him and telling him on live that ghosts aren’t real."

As a heavenly sign, the radio guy chose this precise moment to repeat in echo Sara’s words and give out his phone number for any reactions, questions and ideas his listeners could provide. It was an opportunity that Shane couldn’t just let slip. That radio guy was just begging for it. Shane waited for Sara to be completely out of the office to grab his phone and dial at full speed the phone number given by the radio guy. He didn’t even bother to let him talk, just went forward with what he had to say:

"You’re telling us a bunch of baloney, aren’t you?"

"Sir, um..."

"Shane."

" _Shane_ ", he spat. "I am doing no such thing, actually-"

"Oh but you are, sir-"

"Ryan Bergara."

"Whatever. Do you really believe the ghosties did it, or are you playing a part? Because if you aren’t, I’m seriously concerned for your sanity."

"I’m perfectly sane, thank you very much! And I only brought up this theory because it’s a legitimate piece of the puzzle."

"Who in their right mind would think ghosts are actually real?" Shane exclaimed.

"Look, man", the radio guy began with a somewhat strained voice, as if already fed up by the conversation, "there’s evidence that-"

"Oh, cut the bullshit. You seemed interesting at first, when you had actual theories, you know, the ones that didn’t involve a spirit murdering an entire family?"

Shane was having a blast right now. The simple fact that the radio guy was blabbering angrily on the other end of the call, probably so frustrated by the truth Shane was serving him... He restrained himself from laughing.

"Aw, how the time flies... We really should let other callers take their turn, don’t you think?"

The bastard was cutting his calling time short because he couldn’t handle the truth.

"How convenient to interrupt the only person with some sen-"

The call was ended by the radio guy before he could finish his sentence. Shane put down his own phone as he heard his voice on the radio ask the listeners to have "more constructive questions than this insufferable prick". He went back to his own work, smiling to himself like an idiot.


	2. The Passionate Listener

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Ryan wishes for someone to be truly interested in his show - but is blind to what he has in front of him.

Ryan was pissed off, to say the least.

When he had begun hosting his own radio show, _Unsolved: True Crime_ , he hadn’t raised his hopes too high; he knew that a small show at such an hour in the evening wouldn’t have that much listeners. Though he had found his own cosy little community, and since then things were going pretty smoothly. However if he had known that his first caller ever would have been an arrogant asshole blatantly trying to ruin his show, he wouldn’t have answered the phone.

He still felt kind of humiliated - and red in the face - when he thought about the conversation. He wasn’t used to having listeners so interested they asked questions live. Well, that jerk had just proved that this wasn’t going to change anytime soon.

Most of all he had a typical 'look-at-me-i’m-an-asshole' name. Shane.

Ryan shook his head. _Stop being so bitter, goddammit. Shane is a perfectly okay name_. Yeah okay, it was a fine name. He was just making excuses to find more and more flaws in that asshole, more than he already had.

First caller of his newly-begun career : a dumbass calling him out on believing ghosts could be the answer to the Hinterkaifeck case. In front of his small audience. This show was gonna go far.

Oh, Ryan knew that _Unsolved_ wasn’t going to change the world, end famine and poverty and wars, but it was his baby. He had put a lot of effort and what little money he’d earned into turning his bedroom into a studio where he could host without disturbing his neighbors too much. He was alone in all this, and he was perfectly fine handling it on his own. They could say what they wanted, that he should let go of this waste of a dream, that he should get more sleep instead of writing episodes all night, that he should do something useful for once, that he was bananas to believe ghosts were real - which they were, by the way. That didn’t mean he would listen.

If he were to lose _Unsolved_ , he didn’t know what he would do. Things weren’t that easy, especially since he moved out into a cheaper neighborhood. Unsolved was truly the only thing keeping him going, right now.

He just had to find a way to make _Unsolved_ into a bigger thing, with a larger audience. This way he could get a better channel fm than the one he currently had - a channel only bored bus drivers would listen without paying too much attention, he guessed - a longer version of the show at a better time, a better studio besides his bedroom he had decorated with egg boxes all over the walls.

He wouldn’t have to use his own phone number for the callers to use. This was his only solution, however ; he dreaded having to share his number to everyone on the local radio, but there was no other way. So he constantly prayed that no idiot was going to harass him on the phone. An idiot like that Shane guy, for example.

Chances were that this prick had stumbled onto his show while passing through the channels and had decided to stop and say hi. And infuriate Ryan, who then had been forced to dismiss his tense voice and the fact that he was still gnashing his teeth minutes later. Chances were it was a one time thing and it wouldn’t happen ever again because the guy wouldn’t even remember the channel’s number. And Ryan was more than okay with that.

"Um, sir ?"

The voice caught him off-guard and he lifted his head in a jolt of surprise. Back to reality.

The costumer, an old lady, was squinting her eyes at him. He went to point to his chest, where his "badge", or really the label "Ryan" would have been, but he had forgotten he’d put it away, as he was on a break.

She was looking for an item she couldn’t seem to find, but seemed to have found him thanks to the employee t-shirt he was wearing. He went to grab it for her. This work was more important than any daydream, and even during his breaks he didn’t hesitate to help.

"Thank you young man, you’re very kind!"

"You’re welcome, Ma’am."

He was about to let his mind wander again to a place similar to an ideal studio for his show when his glance met a familiar one. The pair of eyes already on his quickly shifted, as if caught red-handed.

Ryan instantly recognized him as the neighbor he had already met a few times. He seemed really nice, despite maybe a bit shy - he had had an odd behavior the last time they had met. Not _odd_ odd, as if he was someone Ryan felt he should be worried about - _and oh boy did Ryan have an eye for these things_ \- but just mundane odd. Awkward silences and side glances, like two human beings meeting again and again without really aknowledging each other, but telling themselves: _"I should probably say something now. This isn’t the first time we meet"_.

They weren’t even vague acquaintances. Ryan didn’t know his neighbor’s name, didn’t know what he was doing these days, didn’t know where he lived in the complex. Didn’t know anything about him, really. Just that he was tall. He was basically a human Slender-man, as lanky as a grasshopper. As of now, his head was at least one feet above all of the other heads in the supermarket, similar to a floating balloon you just couldn’t missed.

Ryan waved in his direction, a smile on his face, hoping he would take it as an invitation to come and talk to him. But the guy was apparently having none of it, as Ryan watched his eyes grow wide before he disappeared into an aisle of the supermarket, him and his floating balloon of a head.

Yeah, maybe a tad shy. But Ryan was determined to go talk to him later. If he was going to meet him almost every morning and every night, he could at least start off a conversation.

Introduce himself. Introduce his show? Hell yeah, he could maybe tell him about Unsolved. God, that would be awesome to have someone other than his friends who were fed up of his constant talking of his show - _"Yeah, we get it Ryan, you have a small show and you won’t shut up about it"_ \- to tell about his ideas. He was idealizing things again, dreaming about someone who would share his weird interests.

Someone who would be as passionate as him. A passionate listener.

 

* * *

 

 

Well. The arrogant asshole was still listening. Of that, Ryan could be sure.

"Oh please, you cannot just say that!"

"You are?" Ryan asked, raising an eyebrow, even though he knew exactly who it was at the other end of the line.

"A rational person who can’t stand by while you, sir, are accusing a fucking russian Yeti of murder."

That bastard named Shane hadn’t even waited for the usual ending of the show that had Ryan asking his listeners for reactions. As soon as Ryan had evoked the possibility of a Yeti as his third theory, his phone had rang and a shrieking voice had erupted.

Not even introducing himself. What a rude prick. Ryan had foolishly hoped his show wouldn’t be disturbed anymore, but the phone calls had continued each Friday. First and only caller. It lasted an eternity and Ryan was always the one to cut him off, otherwise the show wouldn’t ever finish.

"You have an obsession with my show, don’t you?" Ryan asked again, a sly smirk on his face.

The other seemed to emit what resembled a strangled laugh and didn’t backfire as quick as he used to do. On the contrary, he made the vocal equivalent of someone smashing his keyboard. And still, he answered, sarcastic as ever:

"You have an obsession with ridiculous theories, don’t you?"

"I’ll admit, about the Yeti... I was just quoting an Internet theory, but I don’t believe he did it."

 _What the fuck am I saying right now_ , Ryan thought. _‘The Yeti didn’t do it.’ Look what has become of your show, Ryan. Pathetic_.

"Thank God! We finally knocked some goddamn sense into him!"

"I have an other theory though: what about aliens?"

Silence. Ryan thought Shane had finally had a stroke.

"Shane?"

"Wow, now that’s... You really got me there", Shane eventually answered, his voice weird and awfully quiet. "That’s impressive."

"Oh um, thanks?"

Ryan was taken aback and frowned at his phone. That was unexpected. Shane not being a total prick or not reaching a hundred decibels was something new.

"You’ve outdumbed yourself. I didn’t think you’d be able to, but here I am, proven wrong!"

That was more like him.

"Hear me out here: the lead investigator himself suspected that 'bright flying spheres had a connection to the group’s death'."

"Looks like you got yourself a friend there, Bergara."

"And it could explain the radioactivity and the inhuman trauma. An avalanche couldn’t explain these!"

"What about the missile?" Shane exclaimed. "That theory was way more interesting than the fucking aliens! And more plausible, for all I know!"

"There were no record of a missile being launched."

"Oh so when it’s a missile you’re suddenly very rational about all of this, but when it’s aliens, it’s good to go!"

"I’m only exposing theories", Ryan said with a very innocent tone.

"You’re clearly not. I can smell the favoritism towards supernatural theories from here."

Ryan blinked slowly. He realized Shane’s voice was kinda strange, unlike last time he called. More hushed, more distant sometimes. There were noises in the background too. Voices. Traffic.

"Are you calling from your car?"

"What? No, I’m not!"

His quick answer betrayed him, and Ryan stifled a laugh. He heard him fumble with his phone to try and turn it off, he presumed.

"Wow look at that. Gotta go now."

The call ended on Ryan’s wheezing laugh. He could totally have forgotten about the show if he hadn’t discovered Shane was stuck in traffic.

"Well, listeners, don’t call me while driving like this idiot. I just might report you to the police", he managed to say between two fits of laugh.

Ryan hadn’t laughed like that in a long time, he realized. His friends were more obnioxious than before and he was truly dedicated to the show only, leaving any other activity behind without an ounce of regret. But this, a simple moment of laughter because of a person, he had missed it. He still found Shane to be an arrogant asshole, but he was so ridiculous that it was often laughable more than despicable.

And he seemed to be really into the show, not just calling to shout that ghosts weren’t real - well, he mostly did - but also to provide actual logic and reactions to the theories. Ryan didn’t really know how to feel about him calling each time yet. He appreciated it. It wasn’t humiliating anymore. Exasperating, yes, a lot, but funny at the same time.

 

Shane found it to be very humiliating, this time especially. All eyes were on him, no matter how much he tried to shrink himself on his seat. Calling the radio guy in the bus was by far one of the worst ideas he’d had.

But when he had heard the characteristic excited voice on the bus driver’s radio, he found he couldn’t help himself. A yeti? Over an avalanche?

Now the few passengers in the miserable bus leading him home had had time to understand he was the one accused of being on his phone and driving at the same time, when the truth was much worse in his mind. _Yeah, I’m broke_ , Shane wanted to yell across the bus. _I’m a detective - a detective threatened to be denounced to the police - assigned to small insignificant cases and I don’t even have a car so i’m going home in a shabby bus._

"Oh!" Ryan’s voice came again, this time more surprised than amused. "I have a message from a certain Kate."

Shane forgot about the passengers still staring at him and went closer to the radio. This was new. He had never heard the radio guy reading messages before; maybe this was the first time he’d even received one live on the show. The overwhelmed tone and the slight tremble in Ryan’s voice indicated Shane was probably more right than wrong.

"Dear Ryan", he heard him read. "Keep up the good work, this show is really coming together! Is Shane a co-host or something? His interventions are really funny. Love you!"

Shane felt his face burn up like never before; even worse than when he had to turn off his phone because the whole bus was glaring at him.

The same thing was probably happening to the radio guy, who let a beat of silence before answering quickly:

"Thank you Kate for your message. No, that prick is definitely not a co-host. He’s just a... Let’s say he’s a passionate listener."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading and leaving comments! This story is definitely going somewhere, I have a few ideas in mind. Should have at least 8 chapters, a thing like that.  
> My tumblr has the same name as here : @insomniz  
> please check out the whole au on @pichiba's tumblr account!


	3. The Wimp

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which a game begins and fear strikes in the dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey, sorry about not posting so much! in middle of a week of exams, but i'll still try to post every 6 days  
> things are really beginning now, hope you'll like where this is going

"In the bus?"

Sara was sipping the coffee Shane had just brought her. Their usual break was always the occasion to talk about each other’s days - and nights, in this case. Shane seemed still playfully bitter about what had happened, as if he wasn’t that much annoyed by the radio guy. Sara was kind of perplexed, though not surprised, that Shane was still listening to the show.

"In the fucking bus", he replied, his nose in his cup of coffee. "But that’s not important. What's important is that he finds bears scarier than sharks. I mean, who thinks that? Sharks are obviously more dangerous."

"And what about your hot neighbour?" Sara lowered her voice, her eyes moving from left to right as if to check that they were alone in the corridor before speaking again about this like the biggest of secrets. "You haven’t talked about him for two days."

Shane’s face changed in a single second. From smug he became suddenly really flushed.

"Last time I saw him he... He waved at me."

Sara clapped her hands in awe, then clapped Shane’s shoulder.

"You went and talked to him, this time, right?"

A silence. Shane was red in the face and fiddling with his tie. A detective, and he couldn’t lie when it came to his crush. A literal teenager.

"Shane..."

"I couldn’t, Sara! I was shopping for toilet paper, for fu-"

"Madej."

Shane jumped, startled by the sudden proximity of the voice behind him. A good portion of his coffee landed on the floor, unfortunately not sparing his pants.

He cursed between his teeth. This whole «spilling-coffee-on-my-clothes» thing really had to stop. He turned to face his boss, who was eyeing him with a weird look on her face. Hands on her hips, Quinta was right behind him, half-amused, half-dead serious.

"A word?"

"O-Of course."

"In my office, Madej", she specified, squinting her eyes.

"Right", Shane sighed.

Sara winked at him, thumbs raised as if to show her support, but Shane only returned her a mildly scared look. Quinta didn’t just call her employees in her office to talk about the weather. He followed her, knowing deep down that what awaited him wasn’t just some remarks about his clothing or a warning about his constant chit-chat with Sara.

She closed the door behind him, and then Shane opened his mouth:

"Quinta, before you say anything, I’m going to wash the spilled coffee off the floor, I swear."

"You’d better take a seat, Shane", she only answered, her tone flat.

"You’re going to fire me?"

"Fire- No, you idiot. I was going to have a word with you. Why? Should I have reasons to fire you?

"Oh thank f- Absolutely not", Shane replied. "I should even be given the noble title of employee of the month, if you ask me."

Quinta lowered her perplexed glance to Shane’s pants.

"Yeah, that’s actually why I wanted to talk to you. And you’re going to want to sit down for this."

"Oh no", he whispered, his face livid. "Is it _that_ bad? Don’t tell me Camus is dead."

"Cam- what?"

"Camus, my goldfish."

Quinta let out a loud sigh and gestured to the chair facing her desk. She didn't seem to care that much for Shane's only pet. He finally sat down. His boss sat in front of him, and the atmosphere had suddenly changed, more professional. _No more joking, Madej. This is serious._ And yet Quinta was smirking as if she already knew what Shane’s reaction would be.

"You can say goodbye to your paperwork, because I got something for you."

"Finally..." he whispered, audibly enough for Quinta to hear him and give him a little smile.

She seemed as enthusiastic as him. Oh, this meant it was an interesting case. Shane understood it instantly from the sparkle in his boss’ eyes.

He wasn’t used to complain to Quinta about being assigned some boring paperwork - he sometimes complained to Sara because he knew she wouldn’t snitch - but especially because he valued every little task of his job. He loved it for everything it implied; but he couldn’t deny he had missed the thrill of a bigger case. Of being a head detective on a case. Lately he was only assigned to insignificant love affairs, something every detective had to go through, but something he hated more than anything.

Quinta brought out a kraft envelope, which seemed to be full of documents. This was no small case. This was serious enough for them to be called instead of police officers.

"I’m warning you, Shane, this is something you’ll probably spend all your time on. You'll be the only one working on this."

"No assistant?"

"For now, you won't need any. We have had a first murder - you’ll see it in the file - but most importantly we have a suspect. The problem is that he’s anonymous: he’s taunting us since the beginning, with codes."

"A modern Zodiac killer? Shane asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Kind of. But he’s not a novice. The guy’s a professional. He hacked a police radio twice to give out some codes. Unfortunately, they only cracked one of them."

"And?"

"It was morse. The location of the body. A missing girl from around town... He sent us the code a week after she disappeared. She died a day before, forensics say."

"An asshole playing with agents, I get it. But then, why didn’t the FBI get involved in this case? They usually love this - codes to crack and all..."

Quinta let out another sigh, smaller this time. She seemed annoyed as well.

"They think the hacker is an impersonator, someone just claiming the murders because he found the first body. And the second code seems to be undecipherable, so they think this is pretty much leading nowhere."

"They’re just lazy as fuck."

"Language, Madej. We’re in my office."

"Sorry", he mumbled like a little kid being told off by his mother. "So why are you trusting me on this? You expect me out of all the guys here to decipher a code? I mean, not that I am complaining. I love this kind of mysteries."

"I’m tired of seeing you wander without aim because you don’t have anything to do besides listening to the radio till midnight."

Shane opened his mouth, but Quinta didn’t let him speak.

"Don’t underestimate the case, Shane. If this truly is our guy, he’s armed. He loves games."

"Well", Shane replied with a sly smile on his face. "That’s a good thing. I love games too."

 

 

Well, games could be really hard sometimes. But it wasn’t necessarily a problem. Shane could be patient.

He was good at chess, he was good at deciphering codes, looking for evidence most people couldn’t see. It didn’t take exceptionnal skills. Patience was enough. And determination. Thankfully, he was both patient and determined, especially in the face of mystery.

Shane rubbed his eyes behind his glasses. He was going to overdose on cafeine if he was left alone with the coffee machine again. Sara had left an hour before, maybe two, but not before asking him if he wanted a ride. Without even taking his eyes off the files, he had muttered a "no-thank-you-i'll-take-the-bus", and with that he was alone in the whole office.

He was so close to cracking the code. Those fuckers who had abandoned the case because they "weren’t sure the two codes were connected to one another" and because there had been no missing person related to the second code, they would be astonished when they’d see Shane Alexander Madej decipher that code in less than a week. Better, they would be _flabbergasted_. God, Shane loved that word.

It wasn’t morse, sure, but it seemed to be a lesser known variant. He just had to discover _which_ variant.

His eyelids were heavy, slowly closing. Maybe it was time to go home. He wouldn’t be able to focus if he was sleep-deprived.

Once Shane was out, he inhaled some fresh air. His mind cleared, as if it was clouded from staying in his office too much. He was almost living in it, since he received the case. But he couldn't complain. He loved spending his time on this. Last time he had been the head detective on a big case, well... He raised his hand to his suit, but caught himself doing it. Old instinct.

He had missed it, despite everything. He knew Quinta hadn't assigned him to a dangerous case because she thought it would have been too early. Shane felt like it was quite the opposite. He felt like Camus in his bowl, bored out of his mind and turning in placid waters.

A strange noise jerked him out of his thoughts. Someone was here with him, on the parking lot, at such an ungodly hour.

"Sara? S’that you?"

No response. Sara had been gone for hours, why would she still be outside, in front of the detective office? God, he was so tired he didn't make any sense anymore. He had heard a noise and immediately assumed it was Sara.

He shrugged it off and put on his coat. The air was colder, all of a sudden. His bus was here anyway.

 

* * *

 

 

The blue light was illuminating his tired face, and yet the darkness of his own room was engulfing him, making it nearly impossible to see anything in his quiet bedroom. Outside, the moon was smiling at him through the half-closed curtains.

Ryan never fully closed his electronical curtains. It was a habit, a sort of mechanism he had since he was a child and had never gotten rid of. A childish fear of someone being outside, behind the window. Ryan was afraid not to know, not to be aware of the threat outside. If the curtains were closed, he would be unable to know, to see the threat. As long as he was sure there was nothing outside, he could sleep peacefully.

Ryan let out a yawn. As exhausted as he was, he couldn’t stop writing. He would probably regret in the morning, but right now, he couldn’t take the risk of forgetting everything by pushing down his inspiration.

Suddenly, Ryan froze.

In the corner of his eye, he thought he’d seen a shadow passing. His muscles tensed.

He couldn’t turn his head to check if he’d dreamed or if someone had passed in front of his window. His window that was slightly opened as to let some fresh nightly air inside.

 _You’re being paranoid, Ryan. Calm down._ He forced himself to take a big gulp of air. It was probably his mind playing tricks on him, as it did regularly. Too much murder stories will convince you a serial killer is at your door every night. The mind needs to see something, anything. So it makes up things that aren’t there.

This seemed to be sufficient, and Ryan went back to work. But then, a barely audible scratch came to his ears.

Ryan’s heart fell into his stomach. That noise, he had definitely heard it. This wasn’t just in his mind. This was real.

There was someone outside. Fuck, that was creepy.

He could hear him. And the scratch was similar to a shoe on his floor carpet. Someone hesitating on the threshold. Or trying to see if someone was here.

_Breathe. It’s alright. Don’t be such a wimp. You’re a grown-ass man._

He checked his phone. _2:14 AM._ Who the fuck could be wandering on his threshold at such a late - or early - hour? Another weird scratching noise startled him. He was sure someone was here, behind his frontdoor. Ryan could hear him breathe. Ryan could hear his own breathing, erratic and furious, growing faster and faster in his lungs. His heart was hammering in his chest now, threatening to burst his chest open.

A million questions were coursing through his mind: _Did I close the door? If he enters my apartment, where do I hide? Should I call 911?_ The person was not going away. Just standing on his threshold. Ryan grabbed his phone on the table next to his computer. His hands were shaking so much that he almost dropped it. He couldn’t bring himself to go the half-closed curtains. He knew he wouldn’t bare to see a silhouette in the darkness.

He had to calm down. His window wasn’t closed, and if he started to hyperventilate, the person outside would hear him. But Ryan could feel himself quickly slipping into a panic attack. His vision was blurry, as if drunk, but everything just felt too crisp. Too real. He was already seeing himself dead and on the news. 'Killed by a stranger because he couldn't move from his bed'.

After what felt like an eternity - but was probably more like thirty seconds - the scratching came again, this time fainter, like the person was leaving. Ryan waited for his breathing to slow down. His heart was still racing from shock, his blood still icy. As still as a statue, his eyes wide and terrified, he couldn't tear his stare from the door. He's gone. He's gone, there's nothing to be afraid of anymore.

Ryan tried to rationalize what had just happened. It was probably some drunk guy wandering aimlessly, maybe looking for his own apartment. Yeah, that was probably it. _No need to make a scene, Bergara._

He found it hard to fall asleep, that night.


	4. The Creepy Stalker

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which it is hard to keep composure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> again, sorry about the lateness of this chapter... i finished my week of exams and am officially free to write as much as i intend to! so expect the next chapters to be posted at a quicker pace ;)  
> there will probably be something like 15 chapters in the end.

Without even really knowing why, Shane had found himself on the eighth floor - _eighth floor, cute neighbor_ \- in the middle of the night. He had no reason to do so. He just did. But now he felt like a complete moron.

If someone crossed his path, he would probably appear to be a creep.

He wondered which one of these apartments was his neighbor’s. There was no real way of knowing, except maybe by trying to read the names below their ringing bells, which he tried to do. However, it was too dark. Shane didn’t know exactly what time it was, because his phone had no battery left; he couldn’t use its light to read the name. This was useless, and such a bad idea altogether.

Shane sighed. _What were you expecting, Madej?_ _Even if you had gotten his name, what would you have done?_

He got back to his quiet apartment.

Shane had thought he would be fine on his own - and mostly, he was - but sometimes were harder than others. Being alone with nobody to share his popcorn with sucked, sometimes. But being alone had especially sucked when he had been recovering, mostly stranded in bed and getting up to eat or to go to the bathroom for basic hygiene. For a whole week he couldn’t do anything else.

It was around that time that Sara had bought him Camus, his goldfish. To keep you company, she had said, a smile on her lips. To keep you from being - too - bored to death, he had understood between her words. Shane had looked at the fish with an inquisitive glare.

"I’m not sure this is a good idea, Sara. I’ll find him floating on his back in a few days because I forgot to feed him."

"Nonsense. You’ll take good care of him, and he’ll do the same for you."

Shane really wanted to ask her how on Earth was a fish going to take care of him.

He liked to think about himself as a gruff, uncommunicative and secretive detective.The ‘noir detective’ cliché living. The truth was he simply looked exhausted all the time and not that threatening. It was easier for him to think he didn’t need anyone, so that he wouldn’t ever be disappointed. He trusted only Quinta and Sara on most things, and even to them, he wouldn’t tell some things about himself. The other employees in the agency were ignoring or avoiding him.

He named the fish Camus, after that french depressing philosopher. _"One must imagine Sysyphus happy."_ Yeah, right. Thanks a lot, Albert.

The fish itself didn’t look depressed or happy; it just looked like a goldfish.

Nevertheless, Shane never forgot to feed him, he acknowledged his presence and talked about him to Sara more than he liked to admit. That goddamn fish had quickly become some kind of child Shane had to take care of and babbled happily about like a proud father telling everyone about his progress in school.

First the goldfish, then the cute neighbor... They were tearing his cover apart, revealing the big softie he secretely was. It was unsufferable, but pleasant at the same time. He talked to Camus all the time, even though the only answer he got from the goldfish were a few bubbles. Asking him how he should engage the conversation with the cute neighbor, what he should wear, what he thought of the case... It was good to have another person than Sara or his brother to tell insignificant things like these.

His sleep was restless, that night.

As soon as he had hit the bed, Shane had slipped into a dream he often had, and from which he awakened in a state of panic, clutching the covers as if they were hands holding him, his mouth twisted in a silent cry.

Same old nightmare. _What will they say when they find your corpses?_ In the dream, Shane wants to scream, but it’s muffled and wet and pathetic. He’s crying. Fear, the real kind. It’s dripping from his face. The kind where you wish you’re going to wake up in bed any minute, but he’s stepping on Shane’s hand and god the pain his shoe on his fingers and his maniacal laugh ringing and the smell of blood next to him and the heaviness of the dead hand clutching his jeans.

In the dream, he remembers the pain but doesn’t really feel it. Yet he always feels the fear.

_Words rumbling and shouts erupting and noise filling his mind and blood seeping and-_

He grabbed his glasses. 10 AM on his clock. He had overslept but felt so, so tired still. Thank God it was a Sunday and that meant he wouldn’t have to run to his office and throw himself at Quinta’s feet.

He needed coffee. A copy of the code awaited him on the table, near Camus’ bowl.

 

* * *

 

 

The coffee was warm and with a bit of a sugary taste, just like Ryan enjoyed it. With the cold rain outside, it came as a true blessing.

He nodded politely when his neighbor offered to go fetch him a spoon. His accent rang when he stopped him from drinking it: "You’ll leave all the sugar out!". He had risen from his chair in a second, disappearing in the kitchen.

"I admit you got me by suprise there", his ragged voice came from the other room. "I would have prepared a lil’ something if I knew someone was paying me a visit."

"It’s alright", Ryan assured. "I wasn’t planning on staying..."

He didn’t finish his sentence. The man had already come back in the living room where Ryan was confortably seated between two cats on the sofa. Mr Bianchi had a spoon in his hand and a smile on his wrinkled mouth. He reminded Ryan of his own grandfather, who had passed months ago. Thinking of him still hurt from time to time, like an old wound.

His old neighbor probably didn’t have visitors every day. Seeing Ryan on his threshold, all serious about asking him something 'really important', he had invited him to stay for some coffee while he would answer his questions. Despite having to question his whole floor, Ryan had accepted. He hadn’t really had the time to meet his neighbors, including Mr Bianchi. But if he had known he was living next to a kind old man, he would have visited sooner.

"But thanks for the coffee. It’s really good."

"It’s nothing. It would be rude of me not to invite you inside with this kind of weather."

Mr Bianchi sat in the armchair facing the sofa, and one of the cat instantly went to sit on his knee. The other one was purring against Ryan, who began to scratch her behind one ear.

"Sorry about Marta. She’s quick to accept guests. A little too quick, maybe."

Ryan didn’t mind. He had missed petting animals. He missed his dog, back at his parents’ house. But he had come with a precise goal set in mind, and talking about it was definitely going to be easier here than on the threshold.

"I had a question for you. Did you ever hear something... let’s say, ‘shady’ about the neighborhood?"

Mr Bianchi looked like he had sipped salty water instead of coffee.

"Shady?"

"I mean, has there ever been a history of robbers, or..."

Ryan realized he must have sounded pretty paranoid and was ready for Mr Bianchi to mock him. But instead, the dark eyes in front of him kept their reassuring glow.

"I’d like to say that I don’t know much... But I love the gossip."

"And is there gossip about... ‘strange things’ happening around here?"

The old man was pensive for a moment.

"Well, the only thing that came up recently is a case in which a girl was murdered some streets away from ours. The murderer had left a code that indicated the position of the body, if I remember correctly."

Ryan felt a shiver creep up his back. It couldn’t be the same as the stalker from yesterday, right?

_Right?_

He felt lightheaded, all of a sudden.

"If you don’t mind me asking... What has gotten you so suspicious?" Mr Bianchi asked, leaning a bit towards him. "You don’t have to be afraid about that story. She was from outta town, poor girl. A farm girl."

Ryan hesitated for some seconds. He didn’t want to alarm him, or to make him think he had completely lost it. But his brown, comforting eyes were on his, waiting patiently.

"I think there’s a creepy stalker here. He’s been paying me a visit yesterday", Ryan admitted, his voice trembling slightly.

Mr Bianchi gaped at Ryan, his brow frowned in obvious worry.

"Are you alright?"

This sudden concern was so sweet Ryan didn’t really know what to say. This was a question he hadn’t even been asking himself. Didn’t even tell his parents - his mother would never let him live alone again and his father would hunt down the stalker. It was nice to tell somebody about this. Maybe it was a little selfish, but he needed someone to share this burden with. He needed it more than he cared to admit.

"I think I am", he answered, exhaling finally. "It only happened once... He was at my door in the middle of the night. He didn’t knock, didn’t speak, didn’t do anything really... Just... Stayed there."

"This is... weird, I won’t lie", the old man replied. "I had never heard anyone complain about a stalker before. We should probably keep an eye open for this individual."

Ryan shook his head slowly.

"If anything happens, you know you can always come here. Marta seems to have adopted you anyway."

The black cat purred loudly in response, and Ryan gave her a smile.

But what was ‘anything’? He really didn’t want to have to find out.

 

* * *

 

 

"Now if you have questions, you can always call in, or submit them in a message... You all probably know my phone number by now, but I’m just gonna give it out again, just in case."

Hosting the show didn’t feel like it used to.

Ryan had tried to be rational about all this, but the truth was that he felt like he could never be at ease again in his own room. The electronical shutters were fully open. No one outside.

The Black Dahlia’s mystery had been something he had been waiting to touch upon, and now he couldn’t even tell his listeners about it with all the passion he normally had. And Ryan felt terrible, and tense.

His mind was somewhere else, always focused on the ‘stalker’ matter, and on the recent case Mr Bianchi had told him about.

His phone showed a number he was used to read on the screen, now.

"Yeah, um, it’s me..."

Shane’s voice sounded as if he didn’t really know what to say, as if he felt out of place. Ryan had been stiff during the whole show, stuttering and reading his script too quickly, like he was getting it over with. You could hear the anxiety dripping out of him, without a doubt.

"What do you want?" Ryan cut him off, sharp as a knife.

"I just wanted to ask if you were alri-"

"I’d prefer if we talked about the case at hand, here", Ryan interrupted him again - and _oh, that was rich coming from someone who had struggled to talk about the case for twenty minutes straight_.

He carried on:

"If you’re going to keep on calling this number to give us your useless comments, you can at least try to make it about the show."

He ended the call and ended the show before anyone else could have the chance to contact him.

Well, that was pitiful. His listeners weren't going to listen to his ramblings if those were becoming hateful. Misplacing his anger on a then totally mute Shane hadn’t made things better. On the contrary, Ryan felt even more angry at himself.

He closed his laptop and breathed like it was the first time he did in the entire evening.

If fear was going to destroy his show, it would mean that this creepy stalker would succeed; he would have what he wanted, and Ryan would be the fool in this story.

Yet Ryan Bergara was no fool. Hell, he possibly knew more than most people about strange cases and strange people and creepy stalker and their deranged games. He just had to stop ignoring whatever game was being played around him.


	5. The Nosy One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which they're watching and being watched.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> talked about the story with my brothers and they're actually pretty into it  
> if you wanna talk i have a tumblr @insomniz  
> your comments are so lovely they keep me going!! love u

Shane was humming _Mamma mia_ ’s theme when he cracked the code.

After a whole week of studying all the evidence of the case, of searching an alphabet for that strange morse code, of scratching his head, thinking, he finally had it. Music helped calm his nerves, reflect, understand things.

It was a Russian version of morse - yes, there were versions that were overcoded - and it was a street, and a number. He had it. He finally had it.

He wanted to shout "Eureka", to lounge at the first person and hug them. He hadn’t been this happy in a long time. Happy? No. More excited and overwhelmed than anything, really. This only meant he was getting more clues and that meant he was getting closer. It was like touching the murderer’s hand without seeing his face; and Shane had to read the lines in his palm.

Sad thing he didn’t believe in that crap. But he did believe in clutching the hand enough to squeeze all its secrets out.

Wait, if that was a location... Then it meant another body was there. And possibly the killer, not so far from it.

Shane nearly knocked his chair over as he jumped upright. He was running with his phone in hand before even realizing he was doing so, searching the location on Google Maps.

"You gonna pay for that coffee, detective?", a waiter asked him from behind the bar.

"I’ll come back!"

He had to: he had left his coat in a hurry.

As Shane had been quietly deciphering in a corner of his favorite cafe near his apartment, he didn’t even have his gun on him - though he mostly used it to threaten people. And he was rushing to a potential murder scene. But if he were to encounter the killer, he would have to pray his poor karate skills would work on them.

No time to wait for the bus. He ran directly to his poor old bike parked outside, struggling to free it from the lamppost it was locked to. A dog had pissed on it. Well, Shane had always preferred cats.

_Concentrate. Quinta. He had to call Quinta._

"Quinta! Yeah, it’s me, it’s Shane, listen- Listen to me! I cracked the code! 9, Clemens Hike street! Wha- of course I’m on my way right now! Don’t- don’t worry about it I’ll be- fuck, my ankle- I’ll be careful, I’ll call you again on location!"

He ended the call on Quinta screaming at him to come to the office immediately and to wait for a team before going to investigate it. His duty of informing her done, he pushed his bike on the cobblestone and took off.

He had never ridden a bike at such a speed in his life. It was an old bike, making metallic noises similar to whimpers and shrieks. In one hand, he was holding the phone indicating where to turn next, in the other, he was holding the handlebars. Fuck, this was insane. He was realizing it fully now, as the cold bit his skin through his shirt. Rain began to fall, accompanying his old bicycle’s complain. The sky was crying. Maybe it knew all along what was waiting for Shane.

The body was not even hidden. Sure, it wasn’t in plain sight, lying behind trashcans, but people had obviously found it before the detective and had decided not to tell authorities - probably fearing they would be considered as suspects. It was badly, badly bruised. The guy had probably been beaten to death. Shane inhaled sharply.

This was unnerving, to say the least. He was alone, face to face with a corpse that was the picture of an outburst of violence itself. It wasn’t Shane’s first time seeing a body in a bad condition because of decomposition. But with this body, it was not the case. The body wasn’t in an advanced state of decomposition. It didn’t even smell that much.

And yet, the code had been given to policemen weeks ago. The body shouldn’t have been preserved this well. And Shane understood quickly why: it had been frozen for a long time. The guy’s hair still had some traces of ice on it. But why freeze it? The first body hadn’t been frozen.

Shane was alone, except for the body on the pavement, behind the trashcans. He began to scan the area, to ask if someone was there with him, to watch with attention every detail of the abandoned street. A police siren interrupted his train of thought. Quinta had sent a team to the location. Good. Shane was exhausted; whether it was from his ride through half of the city, from finding a body, from his sleepless nights, he didn't know. He just wanted to go get his jacket, and maybe another coffee. He was probably going to catch a cold, the way the rain clung to his wet shirt.

Quinta was walking towards him too quickly to just congratulate him on cracking the code. She was rather looking like she was going to strangle him - that would be difficult, with the distance in height between the giant grasshopper and his small boss. Shane was soaked to the bone, looking a bit lost in middle of the scene. Not very detective-like.

"Madej. When will you listen to your superiors?"

She gave him an umbrella, which he happily accepted. How did she know he wouldn't have one on him?

"I had to make sure this was the right location", Shane replied, looking at the officers bringing the body away. "And you sent a team like you said you would. But..."

He turned to face her. There seemed to be some kind of weigh on her shoulders; she no longer looked as if she was going to tell him off.

"You’re here too. Why?"

A silence. Quinta was holding his curious glance, hers somber.

"The killer knows I’m here, right?"

"They sent another code on the police radio as we were driving here", she answered. "They were probably watching the scene at all time."

Quinta broke the eye contact with Shane to look directly into a surveillance camera that was pointing its nose to them.

"Smile, we’re being filmed."

 

* * *

 

 

Ryan picked up the pace. Fuck, he couldn’t believe he had had the nerve, the courage, the audacity to do that.

A bit of research had sufficed to find the location of the murder scene. The morse code - that Ryan had deciphered himself in a few minutes before realizing the police officers had too - indicated a German name, a street, with a number.

And here Ryan was, low-key terrified, but looking very determined, his grip on his umbrella growing stronger and stronger as he approached the location, on a real crime scene. Of course, the body wasn’t there anymore. If Ryan hadn’t known what reputation this alleyway had, no one would have believed a body was lying there just a few weeks prior. The thought made him shiver. _I’m in a place where someone lost their life. Where someone killed someone. Where someone killed and then left off without ever being caught, and then sent another code... meaning the person killed again._

But police officers had been there before him. Yellow tape was everywhere, preventing him from pacing around freely. He would only have to watch, because being arrested for trespassing a crime scene wasn’t worth it, clearly. Watching was fine. It was enough, sometimes.

Well, Ryan wasn’t the only one to have this figured. A surveillance camera, towering above the alleyway, towering above Ryan. Pointing at the nosy one. Ryan squinted at it. It was similar to a CCTV camera, probably put by police to check for trespassers. Except this didn’t make any sense.

Police officers wouldn’t bother to put some surveillance cameras on the scene. They wouldn’t change the crime scene like that.

Moreover, Ryan wasn’t exactly comfortable being the one being watched. He decided his little trip to the murder scene should come to an end. His car wasn’t very far, just a few steps away, but Ryan was under the impression his walk was mechanical. A bit crisp, like his joints were rusty. He kind of wanted to run. _No. Why would you run? You’re not running from anything. From anyone. Calm down and walk._  The camera was filming his back now. Was filming him walking calmly back to his car.

The moment he got into his car was so relieving he just had to sigh happily. Truthfully, discovering he was watched by a camera had been so frightening. Ryan basked into the familiar scent of his car and started to drive home.

He stopped to let someone cross the road. He hadn’t really learned anything by going to the murder scene; there wasn’t anything left, besides the camera of course. Maybe this was something he’d have to investigate in a deeper fashion. But only going there had made him feel kind of stronger, like he was facing a childish fear and realizing there wasn't anything behind the shutters or under his bed.

God, why was the person crossing so slow? Ryan had one goal in mind: going home to sip a good cocoa. The person was, in fact, so slow that they had stopped mid-course, turning to face the car.

Ryan frowned. What did they want? Then he understood. The person was reading his license plate. Then the guy raised his head. Looked at him intensely. Walked to the pavement as if nothing had happened. Ryan was stunned. The car behind him honked impatiently for him to start again, but his hands were clawed to the steering wheel. He had definitely been watched.

 

 

This Friday night for the new _Unsolved_ , Shane didn’t call like he used to.

Ryan tried to brush it off as something he should have been happy about. But the truth was that he was accustomed to him calling on the show to give his ramblings and his opinion. When he mocked Ryan’s beliefs, it was in good fun, and he would actually give some serious insights into the cases. He would see some things normal people wouldn’t see.

When Ryan gave out his number like he usually did with no answer from Shane, he ended the show being a little upset, a little worried. Shane’s voice on his phone had become an habit and now, his absence seemed strange. Ryan’s private little show on the radio probably wasn’t his priority, he probably had other things to do, or personal problems in his life, or he hadn’t liked being humiliated on the radio last time, with Ryan being kind of an asshole. It was true he had been harsh on him, when Shane just wanted to know how he was. Which was weirdly sweet.

Ryan felt really guilty, all of a sudden. Maybe Shane didn’t want to call in to be insulted, and rightfully so.

_Ryan Bergara, you’re such a baffoon..._

He didn’t think and grabbed his phone. _0 phone calls. 0 messages._ He still had Shane’s number - of course he still had it, this idiot had called him approximately twenty times in the span of weeks, sometimes calling him more than once in one episode of _Unsolved_ \- and had entered " _Stupid Jerk_ " under his number. He wrote him a message and sent it in a heartbeat.

_"Hey. Hope ur ok. Missed ur intervention on the show tonight._

_\- R"_

He closed his eyes and leaned back, realizing what he just had done. _Such a baffoon, Ryan, such a baffoon..._ _And a nosy one, this is none of your business he probably won’t answer he’s probably busy he probably has a life outside of calling you for Unsolved he probably doesn’t care at all he probably_

_"Heyy im ok hbu? Just have a lotta things going on rn. Ur show cannot work without me i see!_

_\- Shane (obviously)"_

Ryan laughed alone, his heart suddenly warmer, lighter, beating at a normal speed again. He felt maybe even more relieved than when he had gotten back to his car. _Wait. Am I actually happy to find out that this stupid jerk is not mad at me? Well. Maybe I am._ After all, this was the first message he received from a friend in quite some time.

Ryan took some time to reflect about how he felt the last times Shane called. Except for last time, when he was really tense, he felt this exact way - lighter, warmer, happier. He liked his voice, too. It was calming when it wasn't smug. He liked it when Shane called. Maybe he even liked Shane.

_"Ok, hope things will get better... It's boring when i don't hear your shrieking voice._

_\- R"_


	6. You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which a step backward is actually a step forward.

Ryan knew what he was doing was incredibly risky and kind of dumb, but his show was listened by a total of thirty persons anyway. And he was leading his investigation in his own way, wasn’t he?

"Well folks, today’s case is... particular, to say the least. I know that I only studied cases that were back in the day, but say, a little change never hurt anyone. On this episode of Unsolved: True Crime, we investigate the case of the murderer commonly known nowadays as ‘the Hacker’!"

Ryan paused dramatically.

This wasn’t a ‘bad idea’, this was a great idea. Talking about a recent case would have more people interested and feeling involved, meaning more people would actually listen to his little show on the radio. A bit of publicity, just what Unsolved lacked.

"You probably already heard about this case if you’re reading the newspaper, but let me give you all a bit of context. All of the clues are given by the killer himself, hence his name: he hacked into police radio frequencies to give out morse codes indicating the locations of the bodies he left behind."

His phone rang as he was finishing his sentence. ‘ _Stupid Jerk_ ’ was on the screen. Ryan almost choked on the tea he was sipping while talking on the show. Already?

"This is a new record, no one had ever called me this early into the show!", he exclaimed in a truly amazed tone, leaning into his mic more than his phone.

"You- You have to stop." Shane sounded out of breath, as if talking were difficult or as if he had run to his phone. And very, very serious. This, too, was new.

"Excuse me?"

"You can’t... You can’t talk about this case!"

"Oh yeah? I just did."

_Ryan, 1. Shane, 0._ He was just so darn proud of finally facing his fear of investigating this case that whatever Shane could possibly ramble about would have no influence on him right now. He was smug, kinda enjoying being the one who wasn't considered 'paranoid' or completely stupid.

"Fucking- You shouldn’t have!"

"Why? Are you threatening me?", Ryan answered in an icy, defensive tone. Why would Shane feel so concerned about it? Why wouldn’t he want Ryan to investigate? This was weird. Like he didn’t want Ryan to know the truth.

Oh, but Ryan Bergara was a seeker of truth.

"This... This is too soon! It’s not cold yet! You usually do the old ones!"

"Can’t a guy want his show to be a little more varied?"

"This isn’t a joke, Ryan!"

Fuck, he sounded actually really, really serious. And desperate. Too bad, because Ryan was determined. He hung upon on him without ceremony.

And Ryan's idea... actually worked. From thirty listeners, he quickly reached the number of seventy as the episode went on. Double, baby! Ryan was ecstatic. If someone had told him he would be listened by nearly a hundred people on the radio, he would have told that person to fuck off and stop kidding him. Well, now, it was true.

At the end of the show, he received many messages, in which a message from Shane:

_"ryan, im not kidding this is a dangerous game ur playing. Im only concerned for your safety._

_\- Shane"_

Ryan tapped furiously a response to his message.

_"kind of u but i don’t need concern. I need evidence._

_\- R"_

 

* * *

 

 

"You’re off the case, Madej."

Five little words coming together and Shane came undone.

At first, he just stayed there, dumbfounded, his feet rooted to the floor. He couldn’t process what his boss had just told him. Then, slowly, the piece of information made his way to his brain.

Sara and Andrew were looking at each other outside Quinta’s office, already knowing this would happen and already knowing what would happen next. Sharing a worried look. Crossing their arms on their chest, waiting.

"What?"

It was quiet at first. Shane had barely elevated his voice, almost inaudible. Quinta was seated in her chair like she wasn’t cutting her best detective out of a case that had been taking all of his time lately. He remembered having this type of conversation with his boss before, some time ago.

"You’ve been doing a perfectly good job, Shane. It’s not because of that."

"Then why?", he asked again, his voice still relatively low. She remained silent for a moment, then held out a folded paper.

A letter. She read it out loud.

"Icarus,

The wax might melt, but I like you. I like how you look at me. I like your voice. Come more often!

The Sun."

_What the fuck?_

"We received this yesterday night, Quinta added. It had ‘ _For Detective M_ ’ on the envelope. No fingerprints. Simple number for letter encoding. I deciphered it this morning."

At first, Shane didn’t know what to say. This was obviously from the murderer of the case he was investigating. It wasn’t the first time he had received letters from ‘a secret admirer’ as he liked to say, but it was the first time the letter was as mysterious. The guy refered to himself as the Sun! And he refered to Shane as Icarus, telling him he was flying too close to the Sun.

"This... This means I’m getting close to that son of a bitch!", he exclaimed. "He wouldn’t take the risk of contacting me if he didn’t feel himself threatened!"

"Shane..."

"If it’s the threat that’s scaring you, I can hide, I can change my name, I already have plenty of ideas... What do you think of ‘C.C. Tinsley’?"

"Stop it, Shane", Quinta growled. "Stop trying to be the self-sacrificing hero! This is leading you nowhere but to your doom!"

"I don’t wanna be a hero, I just wanna be a real detective again!", he finally erupted, fists coming in contact with Quinta’s desk. She was actually startled into taking a step back, but didn’t break the eye contact. "Something you’re constantly preventing me from being! _Shane, why don’t you take the case no one wants? Shane, why don’t you stay back on big operations? Shane, why don’t you hibernate all year because you can’t handle serial killers?_ You can’t lay me off at the most crucial point of this case because you-"

"Madej, that’s enough!"

Silence fell immediately. Shane's whole body was tense, knuckles white as he had closed his hands into fists. Quinta seemed just as stiff.

"I can and I will. I’m your boss, not the other way around. Don’t forget it."

Shane didn’t answer. He was staring at the floor, understanding reluctantly that he couldn’t get what he wanted out of his situation. Quinta was the one who decided who could be head detective on a case, and changing often was a strategic choice as not to create targets. She eventually sighed.

"Listen, Shane... Don’t take it too hard, alright? I have something else for you anyway."

She went to grab another envelope, considerably emptier than the previous case, but Shane was already far from her office. Her words didn’t seem to reach him.

"Yes, it’s a smaller case, but we don’t neglect those."

The detective was pale as a sheet. His hands, still closed into fists, were trembling slightly. Quinta had finally given him a real something to work on and now she was ripping it away from him after only two weeks. Instead, he was going back to insignificant cases. _"I think my husband’s cheating, Detective Madej, I need you to follow him blah blah blah..."._ He was listening to Quinta depicting him the case but wasn’t actually hearing what she said. All he was hearing was static noise and sentences again and again and again

_What will they say_

that god-awful voice

_What will they say when they find your corpses_

_What will they say what will they do_

"I’d like you to meet with the guy. He absolutely wanted to talk to you face to face... I think he needs some reassurance. You’ll do it, right?"

This was a rhetorical question to which Shane couldn’t answer another thing than "Yes-of-course-Quinta". She was drinking his glance, waiting patiently and maybe praying he would just accept, bow to the inevitable passiveness, resign himself to back out.

Shane took the case. Of course he took the case. He couldn’t really think through anything when he was fighting the urge to scream to the voice inside his head to just leave him alone.

He wanted to ask Quinta if she was doing this solely because she felt guilty about the Henderson case. _What will they do?_ They’ll bury me, that’s what they’ll do, Shane thought, bitter, as he left Quinta’s office, meeting Sara and Andrew’s curious eyes. They’ll bury me deep so I can never be found again. I’m stuck in the middle and I’ll never be a real detective again, he understood.

Shane started walking and didn’t stop.

_‘I like your voice. Come more often!’_

_I won’t come, you pretentious fuck. You’ll have to send love letters to another detective._

_Knock knock on my coffin. Can someone hear me? My name is Shane Alexander Madej, I was a damn good detective in my time but some weirdo destroyed me and my reputation. Now I’m weak and I can’t let go of these dreams. If I receive some threats my boss will act all protective and bury me deep down so I won’t be kidnapped on my way home. She’ll give me other bones to gnaw but I lost everything._

Shane walked and didn’t stop.

 

* * *

 

 

The guy had invited him in a bookstore in town. Well, it wasn’t exactly a bookstore. It was one of these ‘hipster’ new cafes where you could read or work at the same time. Whatever. As long as they served good black coffee, then it was fine by Shane.

Of course, he was going to show up late. This seemed pretty fair considering he was back on doing smaller, insignificant cases; nothing but sweet revenge. In truth, Shane had almost forgotten the envelope containing all the details on this case at home and had had to take the bus - his future client was NOT going to see him bolting on a bicycle - thus his arrival in front of the bookstore twenty minutes late.

Appearance didn’t matter that much, truly; he was disheveled, his shirt badly tucked in, red in the face because he ran on the way. Shane hadn’t even read the case before meeting his client, he would discover it there. He had only gathered it was some paranoid dude calling detectives claiming he was followed. Shane shook his head. _Stop being so judgemental._ _He’s your client now, so just get to it._

He entered the bookstore and was welcomed by a little old lady behind the bar; the bookstore-cafe was almost empty, except for some students and older persons reading the newspaper. Charming little place. Good choice, when you thought about it.

"I’m- Someone’s waiting for me here", he told the bartender in a loud enough voice that his client could hear him at the same time, because Shane had no idea what he looked like. "Oh, also, can I have an espresso? Thank you."

This seemed to work, because a chair squeeked from a corner of the cafe, as if someone had stood up in a hurry. Shane turned in the direction of the noise, and froze.

His cute neighbor, in the flesh, was looking at him with wide eyes, clearly surprised to see him there. Maybe, too surprised. He was gaping at him with an open mouth, looking like a deer caught in deadlights. _Could it be_? Shane’s heart jumped in his chest with hope. _Is he...?_

He walked to him, smiling like never before, and walking to someone never seemed so easy; his gait was light, as if walking on the moon. His heart was thumping faster and faster as he approached him. Threatening to burst out to go offer itself.

Shane felt something that wasn't possible to clearly explain at the sight of his neighbor looking at him. Happiness, that he could identify, because his chest was filling witha warmth he hadn't felt since he had heard Quinta tell him to leave the Hacker's case. If his neighbor was truly his client, then Shane never wanted to touch his previous case again. Gosh, he would never even think about it again, because his neighbor was easily his top one priority.

"You’re Detective Madej?"

And then, Shane’s world exploded and fell to his feet. His heart stopped as he heard Ryan’s stupid voice coming from his cute neighbor’s mouth.

He stopped dead in his tracks and for a moment, he considered running out of the bookstore to forget the connection his brain had just made. Because it wasn’t possible, now, wasn’t it? He was frozen in place, and his head had been struck by lightning, it was now a room for electrictity, thoughts going full speed, and the connection again and again: _Ryan, the radio guy, the voice on the radio and the messages on his phone, was his cute neighbor, was his client. Was the guy he had a definite crush on. Was the guy he made fun of on the radio because he was completely insane._  Instead of verbalizing this connection, he simply exclaimed with fury:

"You!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> really enjoyed writing this (longer) chapter, i hope you enjoyed it as well!  
> also i s2g if these two keep on calling each other detectives in their real episodes of unsolved i will have a stroke


	7. The Other Voice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which they meet in the middle.  
> (and in which Shane has a gay mental breakdown)

This was probably the most awkward moment in Shane’s life. And he was one clumsy, gawky son of a bitch, so this was saying a lot about the way he had led his life. At least it seemed to be the most awkward moment in Ryan’s life too, so he wasn’t alone in this.

They had been staring into each other’s eyes for five minutes straight now, without interruption or words being pronounced. It was almost a competition to see which one would break the tension first. Shane was fuming, Ryan was taking in all the little details of Shane’s grimace of a face. Both were thinking: " _God, I cannot believe my neighbor was the asshole I have been calling regurlarly for weeks all along_ ". Both felt terribly embarrassed.

Shane was gripping the table as if he was going to flip it anytime soon. He felt played with. But most importantly he felt so many kinds of different emotions at the sight of Ryan, each feeling adding layers to the person facing him. Seeing him at the other end at the table made his heart beat in an impulsive way. Whether it was from love or hate, Shane wasn’t exactly sure.

Knocking him out wouldn’t really solve the issue here. Plus, Ryan looked kinda ripped - well, Shane already knew his neighbor to be quite muscular and Ryan would probably kick his ass if he attempted anything - but damn, Shane so wanted to throw a punch right now.

Fleeing would have been perfect, but he had ordered an espresso and was trapped waiting for it. _Grab the espresso and spill it on his cool jacket, that’ll teach him being cute and insufferable at the same time_ , his brain whispered. _Good ide_ a, Shane replied to his brain. _And then flee._  

"An espresso and a cocoa", the little old lady smiled beatifically as she scooped into Shane’s vision field. "Can I get you boys anything else?"

"No, I think we’re fine", Ryan replied, or cringed, really, hoping to make the old lady go away.

He couldn’t stop staring at Shane. The detective was doing the same. They looked ready to either throw themselves at each other’s throats or run to the nearest exit to escape having to talk to each other.

"A hot cocoa, huh?"

"An espresso."

The bastard had mimicked his haughty glance towards his coffee. _Only me can give the haughty stare_ , Shane thought. And an espresso is a perfectly fine and widely accepted drink that a grown-ass man could order, unlike a hot cocoa.

They became silent again for some time. Shane was sipping his coffee, which he had decided not to waste. Ryan was now showing the tiniest smile.

"So you’re a detective? I would never have guessed."

Shane cocked an eyebrow.

"What’s that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing." The warmth of his cocoa was making his glasses foggy. Shane realized this was the first time he was seeing him with glasses. He didn’t even know Ryan was actually wearing some. Glasses gave him a serious yet softer aspect. Gosh, Shane was conflicted. The more he looked at Ryan’s face, the more he wanted to squish it. But the more his neighbor talked, the more Shane wanted to punch him. "I just didn’t know what you were."

"Well, now I think you know what I am", Shane spat. "You, what are you?"

"You know what I am", Ryan answered with a shrug of his shoulders. "A radio host. Not so much."

"Got any job on the side?"

"I work at the supermarket down the road, but yeah, as I said... Not so much."

"Do me a favor then", Shane politely slipped, holding his espresso to his lips. "Explain to me how it is that we’re here together now. You’re not really the type of guy that I’m usually assigned to."

Ryan sighed like a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. The detective had put an envelope on the table with ‘Bergara’ written on it with blue ink, possibly containing details about his case. He would finally be taken seriously by a professional. Okay, Shane didn’t really look like a detective, except for his coat that made him look like Columbo. Then again, what did a detective look like? You’re getting away from the point, Ryan, focus.

"Well, I believe I’m being followed. The thing is, I’ve been... doing my research on the Hacker case, as you probably already know, and since then, or rather, even before that, I’ve been stalked and someone read my license plate when I got to the crime scene-"

"Woah woah wait. Slower. Crime scene?"

Ryan’s cheeks turned slightly red with guilt.

"Ryan. You did NOT go to a crime scene."

"I might... have a little bit."

"I don’t even know why I’m asking", Shane whispered, looking a hundred percent done.

"I needed to go there. You can’t find anything besides the ciphers..."

"Why would this case in particular peak your interest, though? I don’t get it."

Ryan explained everything; from the stalker to Mr Bianchi introducing him to the case, and even his little jaunt ended sooner than expected because of the creepy guy that had read the license plate on his car. Shane, although very obviously judging Ryan from above his espresso, was paying more attention, nodding at every detail. He seemed earnestly concerned. And Ryan had to admit that he was moved, upon realizing that.

"This is actually helpful, even though extremely stupid of you to have thought this was a good idea", the detective replied, pensive and solemn. "See, I’ve been on the second crime scene. I was... I was assigned this case, before yours. On both locations, we discovered cameras that were broadcasting us full-time to someone. The question is: who?"

Ryan remained silent as words failed him. Shit, this was bigger than just a little thing he had observed. _Shit shit shit. I’ve been filmed by cameras that were surely broadcasting my face to the actual murderer. Who now knows what I look like._  

"Well, if that’s all, I think we’re done here."

"Excuse me? How could we possibly be already ‘done here’? I just told you I was probably stalked by the murderer and you’re gonna leave me with that?"

Shane was weirdly quick to shrug this off:

"Listen, pal-"

"Do not call me pal.

"Don’t you think you wasted enough of my time? Sure, someone was on your threshold for ten seconds and you were filmed by the camera on the crime scene. So were all the innocent people that took this precise road without knowing they were encountering a corpse."

"Oh, I know why you’re doing this", Ryan let out, his voice lowered like he was telling a secret the whole cafe shouldn’t hear. He leaned to Shane’s face,the detective visibly reddening at the sudden closing of gap between the two. "You didn’t want to have the ‘stupid radio host’ as your case instead of the Hacker’s one. You were assigned to it before, right? You said it yourself."

"You know what? Yeah", Shane replied, laughing bitterly. "Yeah, I’m pissed off to be assigned to you precisely because I know you. I know you’re overinterprinting every little thing and quicky to jump to conclusions. And if I accept to take your case, you’ll end up playing the part of the detective because there will be nothing to look for!"

"Com’on, Shane. You want to investigate the Hacker case. We could do it together if you just considered-"

"Out of the fucking question!" Shane exclaimed. "I’ve listened to your show countless times." - this was a bit exaggerated, but being angry at Ryan was easier than contemplating his complicated feelings for him, and Ryan was easy to be angry at, to be honest. Shane was giving in fully. "You’re gonna want to investigate like it’s a game! You’re gonna want us to be a fucking team!"

"Why not? I want to help! What could possibly be wrong with that?"

"Everything! Everything’s wrong with that!"

He had shouted it, forgetting for a moment he wasn’t alone in a room with Ryan, but surrounded in a small cafe. Things were left unsaid ( _Everyone that encounters me ends up hurt or worse and I wouldn’t even wish it to my worst enemy and I never want to feel this kind of pain again the heavy hand gripping my jeans_ ).

Shane’s eyes were burning, threatening to spill tears. His chest was aching, threatening to lack oxygen. His mind was filling with thoughts and sentences, threatening to lash out. _Fuck this_ , his brain declared.

"You wanna be a detective?" He muttered, teeth grinding. "Go on then. Have fun with something that clearly oversteps your capacities."

Without an ounce of hesitation he gathered his things, quickly paid for the espresso - the old lady could keep the rest as a tip - and got out of the cafe. He needed air, real, fresh air. He needed to stop having Ryan’s brown eyes staring directly into his soul for two minutes.

 _Oh no, you don’t_ , Ryan thought, suddenly furious to see him escape the ‘rendez-vous’ he had struggled all day to have, begging on the phone the agency to get him a detective who would take his case seriously. A guardian angel.

The result? They had sent him Detective Madej, or Shane, that asshole, who was fleeing quite literally instead of accepting the case. Ryan would not be left alone again to face this. He was more than sane enough to understand that what he had gotten himself into was now too big for him, a mere radio host. They couldn’t give him anyone but Shane? Very well. He needed Shane, whether he or the detective himself wanted it or not.

Ryan grabbed Shane’s coat before he could cross the road.

"Shane, wait... Will you just - listen to me!"

He pulled hard enough on the sleeve that Shane had to stop, jostled, and turn abruptly to the smaller man. There was fire in his eyes, exactly the way there had been when Shane had shouted at him inside.

"All I do is listen to you. How ‘bout you begin listening to me", Shane hissed. "I know my job better than you. Some quich research on serial killers isn’t gonna make you a detective!"

"Okay, rude. First off, my investigation is very serious..."

"You call that investigation? I call that Wikipedia copy-paste."

Ryan looked like he was going to choke on Shane’s words, but only made a strangled sound. Shane pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing loudly.

"Look, the way I see it, you can just go back to your radio show and your old cases. You got curious for like five minutes and then got spooked when someone looked at you the wrong way. Maybe it was a ghost, you know, and I don’t specialize in that shit."

"So you’re just gonna refuse my case because... What, I believe that ghosts are real and you don’t?"

"I need time to think, and you need to go home. It’s Friday, remember? The show must go on."

 

* * *

 

 

Ryan received the first call of the evening in the middle of the episode. Shane hadn’t even waited for the part of the show where callers submitted their opinions.

Knowing who was that Shane, the obnoxious caller, being able to put a face on his voice made it worse to receive his calls, it seemed. Ryan could picture him precisely now as he had seen him an hour ago, with his ‘know-it-all’, gigantic face, his ruffled hair, his frowned brows on perplexed eyes. _And to say that this jerk is my neighbor. And to say that he’s calling me from some meters away._

The number was hidden, so that Ryan couldn’t call back.

Silence. This was weird. Usually, Shane jumped to nearly shouting in his ear that he was insane before Ryan could even open his mouth.

"Shane? Hello?"

Ryan began hearing a heavy, raspy breathing. Real close to his ear, as if the caller’s face was pressed to his phone. His phone buzzed in his hand. A message. Without hanging up, he checked it.

_"this is not me_

_\- Shane"_

Ryan felt his blood turn into ice in his veins.

Then the breathing stopped, replaced by a voice. It wasn’t Shane’s. It was an other voice. It had obviously been changed, Ryan didn’t know how.

"011001000110..."

This went on for something like twenty seconds, the longest seconds in Ryan's life, where he could just listen, gawking, and wait for it to end. This was a binary code.

Then, the other voice ceased to talk and hung up. Ryan remained silent for another minute, unable to understand what had just happened to him. The numbers 0 and 1 were echoing in his mind as if the voice was still talking.

His phone buzzed with a new message from _Stupid Jerk_.

_"im taking your case. Tomorrow same cafe same time._

_\- Shane"_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the terrible writing, i don't have a very broad english vocabulary :( i'm trying my best tho!


	8. The Detectives

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which unity is strength.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'd like to thank my beta @SconesandBurgers who helped me write some decent english! tysm <3 (if you'd like someone to beta your fic you know who to contact ;)))

The first thing that caught Ryan’s eye was how old and rusty the bike seemed. Shane looked truly timid, standing awkwardly next to it. Like a young boy showing off his cool bicycle, except Shane was eight feet tall from Ryan’s point of view and the bike wasn’t exactly ‘cool’. It was pink and seriously looked as though Shane was the one who stole it.

“I’ll give you a ride. C'mon.”

No introduction, no “Hello, how have you been since receiving that cryptic binary code yesterday night”. Just like that, as if Shane hadn’t very obviously been waiting for god knows how long for Ryan to appear out of the elevator.

“I don’t want to bother you. I was going to walk... I’d just be like a deadweight you have to carry around the city.”

“Nonsense. We’re going the same way. Get on the bike.”

Said bike seemed to be a child’s bicycle, minus the wheels on the sides. Ryan examined it with a inquisitive look, as if he was going to sit on spikes, or as if there was a trap hidden somewhere on the carrier. 

“Cool ride. Is it really yours?”

Shane could undoubtedly smell the irony in Ryan's comment, but he brushed it off with a hand gesture.

“Wanna see my papers, Bergara?”

Ryan waited for Shane to straddle the bike before getting behind him, because falling over wouldn’t make a good impression.

“How do you pedal this thing? You’re at least eighty percent legs.”

Shane gave a genuine laugh that made Ryan feel kind of weird inside.

“How do you reach the pedals on a bike? I don’t think your feet are touching the ground.”

“They aren’t supposed to touch the ground!” Ryan bit back, outraged by Shane’s blatant ignorance of the laws of bicycle. “I’m sitting on the back of a bike!”

But he had to admit that this was inconvenient, because he had to grip hard on the carrier where he was sitting. If he didn’t, he would end up on the asphalt in no time, the way Shane’s bike jumped when they left the pavement. And gripping Shane was out of question to keep his balance; he wouldn’t ever stop mocking him if he did.

Yet, it felt nice to have the fresh air whipping softly his face, to see the city moving before his eyes, to almost feel with certainty Shane smile in front of him, not even knowing how. Riding on the back of a bicycle through the town felt like something he would do when he was a kid. Familiar. Comforting.

 

“So, what were the reactions of the other listeners?”

Oh, so  _ this _ was the reason of this lift on a bike. Shane was still  _ concerned _ . It was almost a swear word, in the same sentence as the detective. Although he seemed to engage a normal conversation matter-of-factly, his tone betrayed him and revealed his concern. 

But after what had happened the night before, everything felt out of the ordinary.

Shane had called him. For real, this time, not in the middle of  _ Unsolved _ . Talking to him for probably one hour straight, reassuring Ryan on the phone. It had really helped, as he was close to another panic attack, repeating that the killer knew his number and knew how to find him and was going to murder him tonight.

Strange things, what words could do. Simple words of comfort, coming from a guy like Shane; it had been enough for Ryan to find his breath in his chest, to clear his sight, to be aware of what surrounded him again. He usually waited for panic attacks to cease by themselves, huddled against the wall or curled up in bed. Shane had waited for Ryan to be completely calm again before hanging up.

The day after had passed with the thought of the binary code always in Ryan’s mind, but also Shane’s words, sometimes.

“They thought it was all planned, that it was a part of the show”, Ryan answered his question, seeing the cafe appearing at the corner of the street. “I didn’t know what to tell them... I couldn’t-t”

“It’s okay”, Shane replied swiftly. “You don’t have to tell them right now. In fact, it’s even better not to tell them for now.”

The pink bike arrived with a pitiful squeak on the pavement in front of the bookstore-cafe. Shane actually waited for Ryan to jump first from the carrier before getting off of the saddle. 

“Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it”, he grumbled, looking for a place to park his bike.

They didn’t spare any time and immediately got to deciphering the code, seated at the same table as the previous day. Good thing Ryan always tape recorded every episode of  _ Unsolved _ . In case some professional out there would want to give it a try and needed to listen to an episode. He would never have thought it would be an actual detective who’d listen to it first. He had actually felt pretty smart, the previous day when Shane had asked him if he recorded his show, and that Ryan had assured him they could crack the binary code. They truly looked like detectives now, hunched over the tape recorder humming thoughtfully as the numbers unfolded.

The old lady brought them an espresso and a hot cocoa without them even ordering. ‘On the house’, she added, winking. Ryan tried to suppress a blush. Hopefully, Shane hadn’t even noticed her wink.

“Okay, pass it again, I’m missing the last part”, he exclaimed, scribbling furiously on his notebook.

Ryan did as he was asked, casting a curious glance above Shane’s shoulder.

0110010001100001011001010110010001100001011011000111010101110011

“Okay? This is pretty long. How are we going to crack this?”

“That’s actually pretty simple”, Shane smiled, making his pencil turn between his long fingers. “This, my dear Ryan, is Baconian cipher, or Bacon’s cipher, also known as binary code. Four numbers equal one letter, so by the looks of it, our friend there wasn’t very talkative.”

Astonished, Ryan observed him begin to translate the numbers into letters.

“You know the alphabet?”

“Waiting for a cheating husband to get out of his lover’s apartment can be pretty boring at times. So I find ways to pass the time.”

Then, the letters made sense. Made a word:

_ DAEDALUS _

 

Ryan frowned. Daedalus, as in the guy in Greek mythology? What could this possibly mean? He then turned to Shane, searching for an answer.

The detective had visibly paled at the sight of the word, so much in fact that Ryan seriously thought he was going to faint.

“Shane? What’s wrong? What does it mean?”

“I-”

His hands were quivering slightly, one clutching the pencil that had written the word. Ryan reached to grasp them, but hesitated, and opted for a hand on Shane’s shoulder. He couldn’t look up from the paper. As if his glance was fully absorbed by the word. It was the first time that Ryan sensed fear in him, since his call to try and dissuade him from investigating the Hacker’s case. Now he regretted more than anything his curiosity.

“I received a letter at the office, some days ago”, he finally let out, voice wavering. “From the Hacker. In it, he called me Icarus.”

“Daedalus’ son?”

Shane nodded, his neck stiff, his jaw tightly clenched. Ryan added in thought only what he knew about Icarus: “ _ The one whose wings burnt when he got too close to the Sun _ ”. 

Shane received a threat. His grip on his shoulder tensed. Shane really didn’t have to have Ryan freaking out.

“So... That guy thinks I’m your dad?”

His attempt humour actually worked, as Shane let out a little chuckle, still sounding strangled though.

“I think he’s understood there’s a connection between us. Daedalus is the one who had the idea of wings made out of wax for his son and him. And he’s the one who survived flying, unlike... Unlike Icarus.”

 

Silence weighed on them like Ryan’s hand, still on Shane’s left shoulder.

“In the letter he sent me, the Hacker referred to himself as the Sun”, Shane continued, his eyes still glued to the paper. “One thing is certain: this bastard is ahead of us and he knows it. That’s why he keeps on sending codes for us to decipher. So he can always land on his feet.”

“We just have to catch up”, Ryan replied. “We can do this, Shane. You and me against that wannabe hacker-killer.”

Shane simply nodded, and finally met Ryan’s eyes. A knowing little smile slowly crept on his mouth, genuine and true. It made his eyes crinkle in an endearing way.

“This won’t be easy, Ryan. I’m not supposed to investigate on this case, and I don’t have the third code with me anymore.”

“But this guy’s clearly interested in us. He’ll find a way to contact us, even if you’re not on the case.”

* * *

 

 

Ryan probably stared at the pink bike with a stupid look on his face, because Shane sighed and gestured to it.

“Hop on. I’ll get you back home.”

Ryan didn’t try to argue or to pretend he was fine with walking back home. He much prefered having someone at his side, just in case he’d meet some psycho serial killer along the way. Cracking codes and playing detective had that effect on you.

Maybe Shane had been right to fetch him before he would go alone. But what if he couldn’t ever be alone again? Knowing the hacker listened to his show, could identify him and probably knew where he lived?

For a solid moment, the only noise breaking the silence between them was the rattle coming from the bike and Shane’s short breaths.

“Ryan, don’t turn around. I think we’re followed.”

He had said it so casually that Ryan almost took it as a joke. But Shane was right. The car behind them was way too close to the bike, and this had been happening for some minutes now. Ryan should have realized it sooner, just by the noise it made at his back.

Shane had begun to pedal faster. Ryan gripped the carrier where he was sitting and took a deep breath.

Ignoring Shane’s recommendations, he turned and squinted at the driver. All color drained from his face.

“Oh god. Oh god Shane faster! It’s him!”

“Who?”

“The asshole that read my license plate!”

Shane risked a look above his shoulders, behind Ryan’s terrified face. The car was so close that it almost touched his wheel. It was way too close to Ryan, this was dangerous. He exhaled a shaky breath and pedaled as fast as he could. He had to get them out of here. But losing a tail wasn’t always about driving fast.

He took a sharp and unexpected turn, both for the driver and Ryan, who flung his arms around Shane’s waist with a yelp to keep himself from falling off the bike.  _ I’ll have to apologize for that later _ , he thought.  _ If I save both of our asses from that sorry situation. _

Shane was riding fast, weaving through cars and taking small streets where it’d be unlikely that the car would keep on following them. Ryan was probably seeing his life unfold before his eyes, the way he clung desperately to Shane and jumped every time a car brushed against his leg.

“You alright back there?”

Ryan’s clawing embrace only tightened. Shane took it as a yes.  _ One last pedestrian street. Then I’ll get us back home. _

 

The pink bike came to a stop on the cobblestone. Shane turned to Ryan, who let go of him as quickly as possible, blushing furiously.

“You think we lost him?”, he asked, avoiding his look at any cost.

Shane’s brow was glowing with a sweaty sheen. The effort - and maybe the fear lingering - was still making him breathe hard, taking huge gulps of air. Ryan hadn’t really helped getting them out of there, but he was equally finding it hard to breathe and talk at the same time.

Shane inspected the street, then started pedaling again, slower. This little race through streets and cars had left him exhausted, but not enough to just let Ryan walk back alone to his apartment.

“He knew where to find us”, Ryan whispered to himself. “God, we’re so screwed…”

“Actually, I’d say our luck has finally turned”, Shane chimed in. “We’re not the only ones feeling screwed over, Ryan.”


	9. 109131325

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which-

He put out his cigarette after taking a long huff of it. Grey smoke rose in the fresh air of the evening. _Don’t lose your cool, Jimmy. You’ll have plenty of time to do it when that son of a bitch gets back from his little adventure._

This was regrettable, really. All this work, for nothing in the end.

His knuckles were coated with dry blood. Some of the dripping red had stained his cigarette’s filter. Oh well. He was done with smoking anyway. Today it wasn’t as funny as it usually was.

He heard the door being slammed but didn’t bother to rise to his feet. Lucas would come to him first, as he always did.

“God, you should have seen the looks on their faces!”

His idiotic laughter invaded the dark room before his own silhouette did. Jimmy waited patiently. He saw Lucas’ face light up behind the flame of his lighter. A red glow-worm was born at the end of his cigarette.

“A little push and all of our problems would have been forgotten”, Lucas blew his smoke, standing still near Jimmy’s armchair.

“They are not ‘worries’, Lucas. You are my only source of worries, for once.”

Lucas mimicked being shocked, dramatically putting a hand on his chest, opening a wide mouth.

“I did what you wanted. Why are you so goddamn ungrateful, Sunny?”

Jimmy’s hand caught the blade on the table in a second, and in another it was placed against the skin of Lucas’ neck. Prickling, uncomfortable. A careful threat, like Jimmy. Lucas barely moved. Didn’t even drop his cigarette.

“You’re beginning to exasperate me, Lucas”, he growled, keeping his voice low and hoarse. “I should slit your throat and get it over with. We had business, it was fun, but if you try and ruin this for me, I won’t hesitate.”

Cold. Whispered into his ear. Lucas shrugged to the smaller man, but his voice was tense.

“You wouldn’t even get me the first time. You don’t kill, Jimmy. I do. You sit and watch.” His eyes were glaring at him so they could avoid the sight of his bloody knuckles. _Oh, you know I’d kill you_ , Jimmy thought, sour. _But I guess hitting is more fun. What good is it if they don’t cry out? If they don’t implore? If they don’t kneel?_

The knife disappeared into his pocket. As shameful as it was to admit, Jimmy wasn’t as efficient as Lucas. He wasn’t even good at it. He was messy, sloppy, he took his time. He enjoyed it too much, and in the end, Lucas had to finish the job. There was no point in denying it. _But hey, every team needs a brain, right? Lucas is the brawns, I’m the one that orchestrates and keeps us out of trouble._

Lucas didn’t care. He didn’t consider all the potentiality of killing, he just did it without a thought. Sometimes, Jimmy wished he was as dumb as Lucas.

“What were you thinking? Were you even thinking at all?”

He stumbled back, away from Jimmy’s grasp, massaging his throat as if the knife had cut through his skin. There wasn’t a single mark. What a pussy. Sure, he got some biceps on him, but not one fucking brain cell.

“You told me to keep an eye on Daedalus”, he whined. “That’s exactly what I did. He wasn’t supposed to be with that detective of yours!”

Lucas let himself fall into the armchair with a frustrated sigh; he let the ashes fall on the floor. It wasn’t their flat anyway. The owner was tied in the room, probably passed out. It’d been a week since they lived in her place, like leeches. Waiting to see what their toys would do, which way of the labyrinth they’d take. Jimmy was pacing nervously now. This wasn’t good.

“He knew we’d make a move. Unlike you, he isn’t completely stupid.”

“I did it all as you asked! I changed the license plates, they won’t identify us.”

“That isn’t the issue, Lucas. You showed yourself. Driving in the vicinity of our flat. Do you have any idea of how dangerous that is?”

God, this truly felt like scolding a disobeying child. Lucas didn’t understand how much was at stake here. He just looked back, his eyes expressionless, his brain probably dead from his addiction to smoking pot. Thanks to him and his impulsiveness, Icarus knew approximately where they lived. Knew they were scared to get caught.

This fucking nosy detective knew the deal. Jimmy had done his research on him. Shane Alexander Madej had already arrested folks who specialized in snuff films. The way he deciphered the codes Jimmy sent him, it was clear this wasn’t his first time. He had lost some feathers the last time he had investigated this kind of dark business; he wouldn’t be comprehensive with Jimmy and Lucas if he caught them. He probably would send both their asses to jail even if it cost him everything.

All of this wasn’t planned. But Careful Jimmy wasn’t going to let some minor unpleasant changes destroy everything he had worked so damn hard for. If he hadn’t been able to always land on his feet, Lucas and him wouldn’t have been able to get far. He caught Lucas’ cigarette from his mouth and planted it on his lips, slowly tilting his head while taking a huff.

“We’ll have to dispose of them sooner than we thought we would.”

“Now that’s something I like to hear, Sunny boy. I was getting tired of your games. The others were too. They just want their snuff, not some fucking puzzle shit about a radio show.” His smile was deadly, as vicious as a shark. Even his eyes smiled with malice, shining brightly in the darkness of the living room.

“Don’t fool yourself”, Jimmy bit back. “The game isn’t over. You agreed, we gotta stick to it. They’ll take what we fucking send them.”

He gave him back the cigarette stub. There wasn’t much to smoke anymore, but his hands constantly smelled of smoke. Someday, his fingertips would burn as well. He’ll go buy some packs, Jimmy thought. And his weed.

“We’ll just have to use our tools sooner than expected.”

 

* * *

 

 

They finally appeared on the screen, jerking Jimmy out of his drowsy state; he was just beginning to yawn and doze off. The quality of the video wasn’t particularly good. It was more mediocre than anything, but you could recognize without a single doubt the lanky detective and his small jittery side-kick on the screen of the surveillance camera. Live.

So they had found the last location of the murder. Good for them. Jimmy smirked. That funny little team would never cease to amaze him.

Maybe it was a good thing that they had teamed up. They were now constantly together when they weren’t in their own apartments. Even now, on the crime scene, they remained close to each other. They rode the same fucking bike. _How cute._

Lucas was impatient. He wanted to get this over with and kill them silently, both in the same night. But Jimmy knew they couldn’t ignore the risks of such a thing. Unlike Ryan, who was definitely an easy target, the detective had friends who could easily take the case after him. To eliminate these two, Jimmy would have to be patient and calculate every move. _First, we complete the game. We cannot quit when we’re so close._

He sipped his Monster, eyes flickering to Daedalus and Icarus who had been moving around, looking for the body like Easter eggs. This was so much more fun than with the feds or the cops, who were so slow to understand, to decipher, to go on location. Icarus didn’t wait. He wasn’t slow, he was witty and Jimmy appreciated that in him. Such a waste, in the end. Daedalus had some wits on him too.

“Right there under your nose”, Jimmy said to no one in particular, as he was alone with his computer. A moaning answered him from the room, followed by sounds of someone crying quietly.

“Shut the fuck up!” he howled, kicking the wall with his boot. “I don’t wanna hear you!”

The sobbing subsided, leaving Jimmy in a complete silence. He clenched his bruised fist. Punching had hurt his hands more than he thought it would; he’d have to be more creative. Truly, it was a pity that the camera didn’t record sounds as well: Daedalus’s face alone, even in bad quality, was enough to tell he was shitting himself. God, that was hilarious. He looked on the verge of emptying his stomach.

 _First time seeing a dead body, Ryan? Wouldn’t have thought so._ Jimmy was a little disappointed. Such a talented radio host seemed to really know what he was talking about. Well, it’s never too late to learn. Icarus, on the contrary, was running around, keeping Daedalus close to him, searching for evidence, for the camera. When he finally found it, he flipped it off. Jimmy chuckled.

He had some nerve. The other was just staring nervously, clutched to his friend’s arm as if trying to persuade him to leave immediately. It was probably the case.

Jimmy squinted at the screen of his computer. _You’re not on the case anymore. You’re trespassing on a soon-to be discovered crime scene. You’d better get on your little pink bike and leave before anyone sees you._

As if he was hearing him, the detective took some steps back, took Ryan’s hand in his, and took off as quickly as he could. _Smart little Icarus. Do you feel your back burning?_

 

* * *

 

 

Ryan buried himself into Shane’s back as if to disappear forever, to try not to puke on Shane and also not to fall from the bike. The detective’s coat was flapping behind him, covering Ryan but whipping him at the same time. Right now, Ryan didn’t give two shits about whatever shame he could have felt about gripping Shane so desperately.

He had seen death with his own two eyes.

Death was smiling forcibly, had eyes wide open.

And his first thought had been: _she looks a lot like the Black Dahlia._ Not anything else fitting the situation, just a neutral thought in his shut-down brain. This thought had crossed his mind solely because of her striking black hair, but as he pondered about it, there were other details that reminded him of this strange case: the position of the body, the fact that it was separated in two, the cuts on her face…

Ryan kept on swallowing his own saliva to forget the urge to puke. His heart hammered in his chest. Too hard. Too fast. Maybe he was about to faint. _Don’t_ , his brain warned him, and strangely, it had Shane’s voice. _Close your eyes and forget this traumatic experience._

Oh, he’d love to do just that. But the harder he closed his eyes, the more the image printed itself behind his eyelids. And not just the image of the dead body. There was also the fact that the guy who had done this was running around freely, keeping an eye on them at all times. He could do this to them. A flashing image of Shane in the body’s place made Ryan’s heart heave suddenly. He gripped even harder the detective’s waist and felt Shane’s hand on his arm. But nothing could make him unwind. Nothing could ever make him forget what he had seen.

“I’m here, Ryan. I’m here. We’ll be alright.”

He kept on riding, though. The road was was nearly empty. Exactly as he guessed. The Hacker had made a true mistake when he had followed them. Now he was observing them from afar. Or hiding in plain sight. But he couldn’t make a move, not now, at least. To top it all, he had left no cipher. Maybe he waited for Unsolved’s next episode. Maybe he waited for Shane to go back to the office to find another love letter. That bastard could be full of surprises.

 _Well, guess what_ , he thought angrily, feeling Ryan’s hands dig into him. _Shane Alexander Madej can be full of surprises too._

 

* * *

 

 

She was crying again. Gross tears, her face red, her eyes puffed. Agitated, trying to free herself from the shackles tethering her hands together, she was rattling the chains.

It was only worsening his headache. _Sobbing won’t achieve again. It’ll piss me off more, that’s all._

“SHUT UP!” Jimmy landed his foot in her ribs.

It was like kicking a bag of bones; she almost didn’t make a sound, only sobbed harder. Maybe she was used to being kicked by now. He crouched down to be at the same height as her. Grabbed her tangled hair. Raised the knife to her ear.

“Please... “ Her voice was hoarse, tired. Pleading vainly.

“Now, don’t do that.”

She sniffed, and Jimmy gave her an encouraging smile.

“You can be of use to me. If you do what I tell you to do and if everything goes smoothly, then I could reconsider my decision.”

“I’ll do it”, she whimpered. “But please, let me go. I won’t tell-”

“First, we’re gonna call the police. You and I are going to leave a message to Detective M.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tysm for reading! this chapter was really fun to write (chapter which was again betaed by @SconesandBurgers)  
> incase you saw the title and thought i had gone completely mad, you can try and decipher it ;)


	10. The Guardian Angel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which they got each other.

“ _Received on Monday, 3:18 PM,_ Hey bro, it’s me. Could you please text me? Mom and Dad are- _The message has been deleted._ ”

“ _Received on Tuesday, 8:48 AM,_ Hey Shane, it’s Sara, obviously. You’re not answering my messages, and I’m really wo- _The message has been deleted._ ”

“ _Received on Tuesday, 8:59 AM,_ Madej. Quinta speaking. I need to talk to you- _The message has been deleted._ ”

“ _Received on Tuesday, 11:25 AM,_  Shane, it’s Sara... Please, please, call me back, okay? We haven’t seen you at the office in- _The message has been deleted._ ”

There were texts from Ryan too, but Shane didn’t trust himself to read them or to do anything, really. He knew he had to call Ryan, keep him informed. They were some sort of team now, whether he liked it or not. But he just… Couldn’t. His mind pictured Ryan’s face, twisted in utter fear. He was better off not knowing, he was better off away from Shane. Yeah. If he just stayed away from Ryan and from anyone else, they would be safe.

The day had passed in a blur between the panic attacks and the few moments of lucidity. He just wanted to sleep until death would come and take him. Sleep and forget. But this old sentence followed him everywhere: _What will they say when they find your corpses?_

He threw his phone on his bed, away from him, as if the sentence muttered came from it, and not from his panicked brain. He dragged himself from his bed to feed Camus.This was the only thing that kept him from sleeping all day. He wouldn’t ever forgive himself if his goldfish died because of him. Too many people had already died because of him.

Camus rose to the surface at his approach, understanding that his owner was about to give him some food. That little bastard was clever. His red fins moved with panache as he swam around.

Staring at him was good. It made Shane forget. It was… Hypnotizing. _If only you could be my fairy godfather_ , Shane thought.

For a moment, a short moment of just staring at the fish, Shane thought he was going to cry. It would have been easy, to cry a little bit. He would feel better afterwards, for sure. But this wasn’t the way his awful brain functioned. It just shut every emotion inside of him, ignored every distress and never let anything show. And he was so far in this behaviour that right now, crying seemed as absurd as Camus’ philosophy.

A knock on the door pulled him out of his reverie. No, two. Discrete. Gentle. Like two knocks on his heart.

He went to open. Ryan was standing there, silent. In only a grey sweater. He was probably freezing, standing outside in the cold, but he didn’t show it one bit. He was just waiting for him to talk, to say ‘go away, leave me alone, leave me’.

Shane looked like shit. The bags under his bloodshot eyes, his pale face, his trembling hands, everything screamed ‘i want to be alone’. But the look in his eyes also whispered ‘i want to be held’.

He didn’t say anything, just invited him inside. All of this very quietly.

“I was worried,” Ryan started as he entered Shane’s apartment for the first time. It was plunged into darkness. “You didn’t answer any of my messages, I thought-”

_you were dead, you were killed by that psycho killer so I came to check on you_

He didn’t finish his sentence. Shane had locked his gaze on a fishbowl on the kitchen table, he probably hadn't even heard what Ryan had just said.

“I didn’t know you had a goldfish”, Ryan said just as quietly, getting closer to observe the red fish. His hand brushed against Shane’s sleeve. He smelled of fish food and black coffee.

“It’s actually a Betta splendens.”

God, his voice was hoarse, as if he had just got out of bed, or had just been crying.

“His name’s Camus, he added.”

“That’s a dumb name, for a fish.”

Shane didn’t reply. Just stared at the fish. Ryan had said it with humour in his voice, but it fell flat in the silence surrounding them.

He had guessed on the threshold that something was definitely wrong, but he couldn’t really guess what exactly. Was the investigation taking a toll on Shane? He looked exhausted, not really there. He kind of looked like Ryan. And this thought alone was enough to cut the oxygen in his lungs. _He’s afraid, like me._ Ryan immediately felt incredibly guilty at the idea that he had placed all of his own stress on Shane’s shoulders.

“Shane… Are you okay?” _Stupid question, Ryan. He’s obviously not ‘okay’._

But Shane’s eyes met his when he said his name. A second full of hope, full of questions. And then he disappeared in his room.

_There you go, Ryan. He’s never going to talk to you again. You fucked up everything like you always do you piece of-_ Shane appeared again, his phone in his hand. He called his voice mail without a word.

“ _Received yesterday, 3 AM 33_ ”

There was just breathing for some seconds. Erratic, harsh. Unlike the creepy breathing that Ryan had heard on his phone during the last episode of Unsolved. Then, a woman’s voice:

“Icarus. Do you... Ever wonder what they will say-y when they’ll find your corpses? You’ll find out soon enough. S-send Daedalus my best regards.”

She sounded like she was reading a message through her tears; it was too artificial, to detached to be her own words. Then, a short silence.

“Please, no no no please I-”

Ryan heard a gunshot, and then silence.

“ _To delete this message, press-_ ”

Shane’s eyes were empty. He put his phone down on the table, near Camus’ bowl. The fish swam towards it, intrigued.

“I listened to it this morning”, Shane finally spoke, his voice threatening to break. “I hadn’t- I hadn’t seen the message when he sent it to me… I should have-”

“Shane. It’s not your fault.”

“Of course it is!” He shouted. “She’s dead because I didn’t answer! She’s dead because of me!”

Ryan was watching him with wide eyes, not really knowing what to do. All of this was too big. Another victim had just been murdered, and the killer was playing with Shane. And Ryan hadn’t known. Someone was dead in the night while he was sleeping. Shane had spent the day knowing this and Ryan hadn’t been there for him.

But they needed to stay rational. Keep their heads on their shoulders. It felt surreal, to grip Shane’s forearm to try and keep him from falling into a pit of guilt and fear. Ryan felt like they had switched roles.

“We need to call the police, Shane. I know that you shouldn’t be investigating and they’ll probably give you shit for it, but this is too- This is too much-”

“No!”

Shane had yanked his arm away from Ryan.

“You don’t understand, Ryan. I killed her.”

_What?_

“What?”

“He knows about the Henderson, he knows it was my fault-

“Whoah whoah Shane what are you talking about?”

His breath hitched. He was having difficulties breathing, all of a sudden. Like the oxygen in the room had become scarce. Like he was drowning in front of Ryan’s wide eyes.

“I don’t want to kill you too Ryan I should have never-” God, no. He couldn’t have an episode in front of Ryan.

Shane couldn’t finish his own sentences anymore. It was bubbling in his chest, millions of thoughts becoming words too fast, erupting in Ryan’s face. It made no sense. But guilt was always there. Seeping into darkness. Seeping into his bones. Seeping into his words. And then the poor girl’s voice said ‘What will you say when you’ll find Ryan’s corpse?’ and it was worse. It was so much worse.

“I’m so sorry, I-”

He was crying on Ryan’s shoulder before even realizing Ryan had engulfed him into a hug.

Shane didn’t even think about how he should have been ashamed of this, smearing Ryan’s sweatshirt with tears and possibly snot. He was too tired to think anyway. All of those memories bubbling up, the PTSD acting up, the stress he was under with Ryan’s implication in the case... All of this crap disappeared temporarily, replaced only by Ryan’s sudden and overwhelming presence.

Shane buried his face into Ryan’s collarbone, sobbing, mumbling ‘I’m sorry’s softly into his shoulder. Ryan had closed his eyes, holding Shane close, arms wrapped around him tightly but gently at the same time, as if he was going to slip away, whispering sweet nothings back.

This felt nice. It felt nice to cry when it was on Ryan’s shoulder. Shane had almost forgotten what it felt to be comforted by someone since the Henderson case. Last time a similar thing happened, he was kneeling on the cold tiled floor, Sara’s arms around his shoulders wracked with deep sobs. Ryan had a strong, loving embrace. Warm and comforting, too. Shane basked in the scent of vanilla on his skin and of lemon in his black hair. Shampoo, he identified, his thoughts blurry and kind of fuzzy.

Ryan’s hands were slowly circling into Shane’s back, caressing it softly. Shane wondered how he had lived all these years without this very embrace. It was like he was made to melt into the hug.

Shane slowly removed himself from Ryan’s embrace, enough to be able to look at him while staying in his arms. Their noses were almost touching each other; they were so, so close. He could feel Ryan’s warm breath on his cheek.

“Thank you”, he said quietly.

Ryan knew it meant more than the mere hug.

“Don’t mention it”, he whispered. “Why don’t we go to my apartment? I made coffee.”

Shane simply nodded. Coffee sounded great. Following Ryan anywhere sounded great. Now that he had tasted his embrace, he didn’t want to be separated from him.

Yet the pit in his stomach reminded him that the more Ryan stayed with him, the more danger he was confronted to. But if Shane was with Ryan, they could protect each other. Just for the night.

 

* * *

 

 

Crying had left him exhausted in a good way, unable to let the fear take over again. He had let Ryan lead him by the hand to his room. His apartment was cozy, welcoming, small. It was in the image of his owner. Ryan left him to return with a gently steaming mug of coffee. It wasn’t as black as the usual coffee Shane prepared for himself. Puzzled, he raised his curious eyes to his neighbor.

“I put some milk in it. To cover up for my lame coffee.”

His voice was singing as he chuckled to himself. It was cute. Milk wasn’t so bad. Black coffee wasn’t a good idea anyway, especially at that time. And the fact that Ryan had heated it up before adding it to the coffee was very sweet. Thoughtful. Except for his parents, his brother and Sara, Shane had never had someone who’d think so much about him, about what would please him. It felt nice to be looked after. It was like entering a warm bath and just… Letting go of all worries eating at him.

“Have you eaten anything lately?”

Shane shook his head, frowning. In fact, he hadn’t eaten since the day before. He couldn’t even look at food without feeling the urge to throw up. But Ryan had decided that Shane’d have to eat something. That something would have to be chicken soup. He was probably his guardian angel, now that Shane thought of it.

They ate in silence, sitting close to each other on the bed, as Ryan’s apartment wasn’t made for two. This wasn’t awkward, even though Shane very clearly felt that his eyes were puffy and red from crying. All this newfound warmth, from the milky coffee, from the soup, from Ryan himself, it was more than Shane thought he could have. He could deserve.

“You can sleep here, if you want. I don’t have a lot of space, so you can take my bed.”

Shane wanted to protest. To say that he could go back to his apartment, but the truth was that he loathed the idea to go back to that place alone. So he only said:

“Where will you sleep?”

“I have a carpet that I use for gym. And a pillow. It will be more than enough.”

It wasn’t enough. Ryan was about to have a wonderful night, but under no circumstance ever would he tell this to Shane. Who was already falling asleep in his bed. He must have been exhausted.

God, a detective was in his bed. Hopefully Ryan wasn’t in the bed as well - that would have been difficult because even Shane seemed to be too big for it. His feet were poking out of the blanket. When had things gone this far? Ryan was lying on his back on the gym carpet, stiff, clutching his own blanket, at the foot of the bed. Overthinking about the moment when he had found Shane. And the expression on his face when he had broken down. _“I killed her. He knows about the Hendersons…”_

What did that mean?

“Can we… Is it okay if we talk about it?”

He heard Shane rolling on his side from the squeak of the mattress.

“Sorry about that.”

“Don’t be. It’s okay to be afraid. I’m afraid.”

“I’m just really… I don’t want to see other people suffer because of me.”

Ryan waited. Then extended his hand on the floor, near the bed. Shane considered the offered hand for a second, then took it in his own large palm. Squeezed it.

“There was that case I was assigned to”, he began, taking a big inhale. “Long story short, I went out of my way to find the killer. So far in fact that I ended up being kidnapped by this fucker. Funny, huh? The fucking detective ends up being the one who’s kidnapped. That’s like a fish drowning.”

Ryan tightened his grip on Shane’s hand.

“That was… Yeah, I hope this never happens again. The thing is… I wasn’t the only one being kidnapped. There was a girl, Lisa Henderson. She died.”

_that hand gripping his jeans and that voice asking please please don’t let him kill me please while he laughed laughed but what was so funny shane just wanted to cry cry_

“Shane. I’m sorry.”

“The killer was planning on killing me too. But the agency saved my ass just in time. Now this new killer is fucking with us and repeating things that the previous one said to me that day…”

_What will they say when they find your corpses? (Lisa’s corpse gripping Shane’s like she’s holding onto life whereas she was holding onto death itself) You killed her because you wouldn’t die. Now you have to live with that._

“It won’t happen again, Shane, I promise. Not when I’m here with you. I won’t let them.”

The anger of knowing what had happened to Shane was making Ryan more brave than he had ever been. To dry his tears and take away his fear, he would have done anything.

“This killer, he knows he’s in danger. He won’t come for us, he’s playing games from afar. It’s up to us to be smarter than him.”

He was… right, in a sense. This time, Shane wasn’t alone. He had Ryan. And Ryan had maybe taken a step forward when that killer was busy sending creepy messages. But now was not the time. He had already forced Shane to talk about things that were making him too uncomfortable. This was enough for tonight. Shane’s fluttering eyelids, heavy with drowsiness, were enough to make Ryan shut his mouth.

“Don’t worry, Shane, I got you.”

He seemed so sure of it, like he was literally holding Shane in his arms again. Like he was keeping him surrounded in his embrace, safe, warm. And the way he said his name - like only a guardian angel would pronounce so softly the name of the human he was assigned - that Shane let himself drift to sleep.

He didn’t remove his hand from Ryan’s.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit of a breather, a bit longer! I hope you enjoyed it as much as I love writing characters having contacts (hugging, holding hands... ugh my shit)  
> your comments and kudos are really appreciated!! <3  
> (fun fact: shane actually really talked about a detective going missing and really said 'that's like a fish drowning') so im not grasping at straws)


	11. Daedalus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which they follow the red thread.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey y'all, very sorry to have been a ghost for so long and thank you for being patient. i was busy with french uni papers, it sucked, plus a little writer's block... but i'm back with hopefully more regular chapters. hope you like this one!

Shane was alone in the kitchen, humming something to himself. A song, very quietly. Ryan didn’t recognize it at first, because he was absorbed in the sight of Shane in the morning light. He seemed focused on his task, which was: drinking his mug with a pensive look on his face.

Ryan had awoken to the strong scent of coffee. The first thought that had crossed his mind was: _“Wait. I live alone. Did I leave coffee on the stove?”_ But then the memories of last night had come back to him in a flash. _Shane._ Shane was the one making coffee. But then, why was Ryan in his own bed? He remembered blurrily sleeping on the floor. Or rather, on a gym carpet. He had let the detective take his bed.

Shane must have moved him to the bed when he woke up. At the idea of being carried in Shane’s arms, even for a second, Ryan felt his entire face burn.

He had kicked the blanket to venture into his own apartment, looking for Shane and had found him in the kitchen.

 _Mamma mia._ That was the song.

Ryan opened his mouth to speak, but no sound came out. Right. He cleared out his throat, and this caused Shane to jump in front of him, suddenly acknowledging his presence. A good amount of coffee landed onto his shirt, and Shane cursed between his teeth.

“Sorry”, Ryan croaked, wincing and stifling a laugh creeping up his throat.

“It’s alright”, he answered, though not looking fully convinced as he tried to wash it off. “It happens to me all the time. I might be cursed or something.”

“Wouldn’t surprise me, somehow.” Ryan was already at his side, wiping the stains with a sponge. The sudden coolness of it through the shirt made Shane start.

This was weird. As if Ryan’s touch was on his chest. As if he touched his heart. Maybe he could feel his furious beatings under his palm. Ryan raised his eyes and met Shane’s, for a second. As if everything about this was forbidden. So he let his hand fall, and avoided Shane’s surprised eyes.

“You should have let me sleep on the gym carpet”, he said, trying to suppress a blush on his cheeks.

“That looked uncomfortable as fuck. I mean, this is your home. I’m not gonna take your bed from you.”

Shane served Ryan a mug of coffee. He had even warmed a bit of milk, just for him. It was sweet. The same kind gesture, returned to him. Ryan smiled to himself.

“I was thinking”, Shane began, still pacing in the kitchen. “About yesterday. You literally came just to check on me? There must have been something more, right.”

Ryan swallowed his saliva. God, Shane was perceptive. He wasn’t a detective for nothing, Ryan guessed.

“Yeah, um. I wanted to tell you something important.”

Shane came to a stop, turning to stare at Ryan. He hadn’t wanted to bring this up yesterday, when Shane was obviously not ready to hear more from the case. Now was the time to talk about it.

“I think I’ve discovered a pattern. For the murders, I mean.”

Shane cocked an eyebrow. A pattern? This seemed far from plausible. The murders were different in every way possible. Apart from the codes linking each and every one of them, they seemed to have been committed by several killers. That explained why the feds thought this couldn’t be the work of one person. But Ryan had a spark of intelligence in his eye. So Shane listened to him.

Ryan led him to his small bathroom. There was barely enough room for two in it, and Shane wasn’t sure why Ryan was bringing him here. Maybe he was getting really paranoid and wanted to talk in an… intimate room? Then he saw the mirror above the sink and understood why.

“What in the actual-”

“Before you tell me I’m going crazy, hear me out, alright?”

Shane only nodded in disbelief. It looked like a real detective work in here, or rather the stereotype of it in detective shows, with pictures and articles and post-its pinned to the mirror. A true labyrinth of pictures and scribblings. Linked with a red thread. It was fascinating. And a little bit off-putting.

“Okay, you might think I’m grasping at straws, but… Remember the first murder?” Ryan asked him, pointing at one article. “The street had a german name. A farm girl was left for dead. Doesn’t that remind you of something?”

In truth, it didn’t remind him of anything at all.

“Then, the second murder. Russian morse, right? Weird. He wouldn’t change the code if it didn’t mean something. 9, Clemens Hike street. The guy was beaten to death. And had ice in his hair. Rings a bell, now?”

Shane was watching Ryan move in front of the mirror, showing a post-it where he had circled the number 9, ‘hike’ and written ‘Russian???’. But he wasn’t exactly following Ryan’s line of thought. Nothing made sense. He just seemed to connect points randomly, like a madman.

“But then, the last known murder. To be honest, it’s the one that really got me thinking. The girl…” He stopped for a second, looking ready to empty his stomach. The gruesome memory of the corpse lying on the cobblestone instantly came back to Shane. “The position she was in. Strange, wasn’t it? I couldn’t shake the feeling… that I had seen this before.”

Now that Ryan was evoking it, Shane found himself nodding in agreement. _The forced smile. The cuts on her face. The fact that she was separated in two. The black hair…_

“The Black Dahlia”, he whispered. “And the Black Dahlia is a case that I talked about in Unsolved”, Ryan added, writing quickly under the post-it. “Just like... The strange deaths of the nine Hikers of Dyatlov Pass.”

He wrote ‘Dyatlov Pass’ underneath the article about the man found beaten to death. Shane watched in awe as every piece of the puzzle came together.

“Nine, Clemens Hike Street. Nine Hikers in Russia. I don’t think this is just a coincidence, Shane. He was almost frozen so that his body would not be decomposed. Or maybe to recall the Hikers’ case?”

“You- You also talked about this case”, Shane joined in. “And the first murder…?”

Ryan immediately went to write ‘Hinterkaifeck’ next to the article.

“The German farm. Same kind of murder. German name. Farm girl. I think this serial killer…”

“Is reproducing the cases you talked about on Unsolved”, Shane completed, locking eyes with Ryan.

There was a moment of silence. Stunned silence, as if they had just cracked the biggest case of the century. But this was definitely a good step forward.

Shane hated to admit it, but he was actually very impressed. All of this work, all these connections that Ryan had made alone, he probably never would have thought about it himself. Ryan was smart; Shane already knew this, but right now, as he was looking at him frantically writing on his mirror with a red marker, Shane felt his heart beating freely in his chest. Pride? He was proud of Ryan? Yeah, maybe a little bit.

And he was supposed to be the detective here.

“You know what this means, Ryan?”

His chocolate eyes interrogated his. They still had this light in them.

“We can actually know in advance what his next move will be. What was the last case you talked about?” Ryan squinted his eyes, thinking. And then, his look darkened.

“It was the Hacker’s case.”

For once, Shane didn’t know how to answer this. So he chuckled, trying to lift the somber mood up.

“He won’t kill himself to follow his pattern, right?”

“No, but he definitely can kill us!” Ryan exclaimed, his eyes going wide like when he was getting extremely frightened.

“Ryan, hey.” Shane gripped both of his shoulders, grounding him. “Ryan, calm down. He most definitely will not kill us. It would be crazy to leave some evidence coming in our apartments just to eliminate some guys. He’s smarter than that. As long as we don’t blindly head straight into his trap, he won’t come to us.”

Ryan breathed out. What Shane was saying was probably true. It made sense, at least.

“That is why I need you to stay here”, Shane added with a straight face. “Until my agency actually catches that psycho, I need you to stay in your apartment. I’ll be making sure that you stay safe.”

“Wait.” Ryan pushed his hands from his shoulders as he slowly came to the realization of what Shane’s words meant. “No, you can’t do this. You can’t leave me alone in here! You’re gonna get caught by the killer and I won’t even be able to help you!”

“Ry’, I have to do this.”

“I can come with you, I can help you...”

“No. Out of the question.”

“Stop leaving me out, goddammit!”

Ryan was breathing heavily, like when he was on the edge of a panic attack. Talking to Shane was like yelling at a wall. He was back to his obsession of doing everything himself even though he needed Ryan’s help. He was back with his cold stare, like he wasn’t really seeing Ryan or hearing his pleas.

“I know how to find this guy’s name without him knowing it. You would be endangered if you came.”

“How is that not ‘blindly heading straight into his trap’?”

“I’m the detective here, Ryan!” Shane raised his voice, nearly shouting. “I know my stuff!”

Then it got quiet again. He held eye contact with Ryan.

“You have to trust me on that one. I’ll be back here as soon as possible.”

He extended his hand, just like Ryan had when he was about to fall asleep. It looked like a bargain, a promise. By just taking his hand, Ryan felt like he was taking an oath that would always link him to Shane. But it also meant that he was putting all of his trust into him. It meant: _“Don’t you dare sacrifice yourself for my safety. We’re a team. We should be doing this together.”_ All the words that he wanted to say, but that his constricted throat wouldn’t let out. Ryan took his hand and this time, he was the one that squeezed it.

 

* * *

 

 

He really hated having to leave Ryan behind, especially now with the threat of the killer following them like a shadow. But Shane had to do this alone. Bringing Ryan over was the best way to get him harmed in any way possible. Perhaps even by having him hyperventilating at the thought he was in an ‘illegal place’.

The guy was an old friend and had had Shane come over multiple times to check who changed their license plate in his garage. This wasn’t different from old times. The detective could count on him.

People like Gregory were rare, so you had to stick with them. Most of them cowered out after two weeks because they were afraid to end up at the hands of the local mob. But Greg had been at this for years. Without ever inspiring even a little bit of doubt into the hearts of petty criminals.

He had returned with his register, turning the pages in front of an impatient Shane and had landed on a single name, that matched perfectly both the time and the license plate.

“Here. It’s him, no doubt.”

Shane had nothing but a name. No address, no phone number, no picture. Gregory wrote it on a piece of paper and passed it to Shane under the table. As if their hands hadn’t even touched.

And then the detective was out, walking quickly, the piece of paper crumpled into his hand.

Shane felt like the name written on paper was going to burn his fingertips, set his hands on fire and then consume him entirely. _Lucas W. Finn._ This was the name of a killer. This was the name of the man that had called him to make him listen to a woman living her last seconds. This was the name of the Sun.

Shane had chills just thinking about him. But now time was up. He knew too much already and had to spread that knowledge as quickly as possible.

He sent the name to both Quinta and Sarah. These two were the ones he could trust the most. The ones he knew he had to contact.

He broke into a near sprint to the place where his bike was parked. He had to get to Ryan immediately.

 

* * *

 

 

Three quick knocks on his door got Ryan out of his paranoiac state.

“Fucking- You took your time”, he began as he got up.

He grumbled all the way to the door about the fact that Shane was a selfish bastard who just wanted to be a detective on his own, and the fact that he had been scared shitless during a good hour of just walking in circles in his apartment.

But deep down, he felt so, so relieved to have Shane back. He had sent him way too much messages, mostly alarmed questions. His mind had played scenarios of Shane falling into the trap of the serial killer, and getting kidnapped, and-

Ryan opened his door to the tall silhouette standing in front of him.

“You could at least have answered my messages, Shane.”

Shane didn’t answer this inquire, and this prompted Ryan to actually look up. The person standing in front of him wasn’t Shane at all.

“Hello there, little Daedalus.”


	12. The Minotaur

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which he is trapped in the labyrinth.

Ryan’s first reaction was dumb. Panic never made people particularly intelligent, and Ryan was quick to give in to panic, but this was just downright stupid.

When he tried to slam the door on the guy, his foot caught it, preventing the door to be closed. It was too late.

He tried nevertheless to retreat back in his apartment, running to his phone. _Call Shane call Shane call Shane call Sha-_

He felt his t-shirt being grabbed and before he could even begin to understand what was happening, he was yanked backwards with so much force he almost fell on his back. Ryan yelped, but it was useless: he was trapped in his own home now. He couldn’t make a run for the door; the guy was blocking it and holding him tightly by the shoulder now.

“Let me g-”

“If you utter one word, I’ll cut you, boy.”

The shine of the blaze stopped Ryan dead in his tracks and his mouth shut immediately. It was on his chest, the strange weight of a hunting knife. It traveled up to his throat, as if tracing along to the point of no return. The guy barely pressed it to his skin, but his pulse was beating so fast that it touched the knife anyway.

“You won’t go anywhere”, the guy grunted like a promise. “You’re staying with me.”

 

Everything was going according to plan, so that was good. Jimmy would be happy for once and stop whining like a little bitch. Speaking of which, he still had to call him to let him know he had successfully found Daedalus.

Lucas didn’t even bother to remember his real name, that was Jimmy’s part, all the brainy things of the plan. There were only Daedalus and Icarus, Jimmy’s little inventions.

Bran? Brian? That didn’t matter anyway, because that little dude would be dead in some minutes. He would be the subject of someone’s else radio show and then nobody would pronounce his name anymore.

 _Make them disappear._ Jimmy had been very clear on that. _We leave no trace. It’s like we weren’t even there. And thanks to these two idiots, we get to start anew._ It was fine by Lucas. This game of cat and mice had gone on long enough; now the mice were trapped and the cat was sharpening its claws.

After some ringing, Lucas finally heard his partner’s smug voice in his ear.

“Did you do it?” was the first thing Jimmy said to him. To the point, as always.

“Yep. He’s tied up. Won’t give us any trouble.”

“Good. Wait for us. We’re coming. You can have a little fun meanwhile.”

Lucas chuckled as he hung up. As if he hadn’t already. As different as him and Jimmy were, the definition of ‘fun’ was something they could at least agree on.

 

Ryan saw the phone, heard the conversation and shuddered when realization hit him. This guy wasn’t alone like Shane and him had thought; and the one at the other end of the line was probably going after Shane.

The thought of Shane being abducted almost brought Ryan to tears. Maybe it was also because everything hurt so much, especially his throat, his face and his ribs. The pain was excruciating: he just wanted to lie there, on the floor, watch his own blood pour from his nostrils. Because he could taste copper in his mouth, he could feel the tickle under his nose. Which was probably broken. It didn’t hurt as much as the rest, to be honest. Ryan couldn’t focus on more than three ‘pain spots’.

But what definitely hurt the most was the small place in his chest aching for Shane, selfishly aching for his presence even though he prayed for Shane to stay away from this apartment.

His phone laid just next to him, in a million pieces. Crumpled so that he couldn’t try to phone someone for help. Useless move, to tell the truth, as Ryan was tied at the hands. Not gagged, but tied strongly enough that he couldn’t move or stand up easily.

As he had just stared at the dude destroying his phone after destroying his ribcage, Ryan had understood he was doomed to die today. He couldn’t possibly come out alive of this one. The dude had beaten him just for fun, laughing maniacally while punching him and hearing his whimpers. He would also kill him just for fun.

His own breathing had been reduced to a weak wheeze, a sickening whistle, as if the guy’s hands were always on his throat. _Just finish it quickly_ , Ryan thought despite himself. _We both know you’re going to take your time. So just get on with it._

 

The small dude was glaring at him from across the room. Lucas had already roughed him up a little. Maybe too much too early.

Jimmy would want to see some of that, and he wouldn’t consider it ‘funny’ if the small dude was out cold by the time he’d arrive. But hopefully, despite him being small and terrified, Daedalus seemed to be a tenacious roach. He took punches without screaming too much. He was biting his lip during the whole ordeal as if this was going to change something, as if waiting it out was going to make Lucas leave. As if this was going to have a happy ending.

“You blaze?”

The question actually seemed to catch the small dude off guard, as his eyes went wide again, but this time scrutinizing Lucas as if he was going to pull out a gun at any moment.

“...Weed?”

God, his voice was fucked. It sounded like a toad croaking.

“Yes, weed.”

“... No, no I don’t smoke weed.”

“Pity, you could have had at least one last huff before the end. You got food in the fridge?”

The small dude only nodded. He still had that ‘scaredy cat look’ on his face. Lucas made his way to the kitchen, grabbed everything he could eat during his high. Jimmy’d be pissed off if he saw him high on the job, but what kind of job was this in the first place? He’d done his part accordingly, and smoking a bit of kush wasn’t going to make him clumsy.

He couldn’t believe this dude was the famous Daedalus Jimmy wouldn’t shut up about. The radio host that, if Jimmy was to be trusted, was the key of this affair.

_He is your arch-enemy, Lucas. The only one who could defeat you and me._

Well, the small dude that had opened his door to the Minotaur himself was very underwhelming. No big arch-enemy. Just a quivering wimp.

Maybe, just maybe, he had some brain cells on him, maybe he was a nerd just like Jimmy; this could have explained why they found each other. Yeah, that was definitely it. But then, why wasn’t the detective _his_ arch-enemy? He slammed the fridge’s door and returned in the living-room, where the small dude was sniffing, looking on the edge of sobbing.

“This won’t help you”, Lucas warned him. “When the Sun gets here, you’re just going to want this to be over quick.”

He looked up, dazed, as if drugged and confused. His face was already a bit swollen and bleeding, so Lucas hoped it wasn’t a concussion. Jimmy would never forgive him if he ruined the moment he had been waiting for.

“You’re… You’re not the Sun?”

Lucas didn’t answer right away; instead, he barked out a laugh.

“Oh no, Daedalus. I’m the Minotaur.”

He sat comfortably in the small sofa facing the small dude.

“I’m the one that’s been following you guys for some time now. It was funny as hell, lemme tell you! What I’d have given just to puncture your friend’s tire myself…”

Wide eyes again in front of him. He was easy to manipulate.

“Speaking of him, don’t get your hopes too high. He’s not going to save you.”

His phone buzzed in his pocket. Jimmy was here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> back with a small chapter, next one is going to be Much Longer.  
> also im starting to write another fic as i finish this one!  
> as always your comments and kudos warm my heart <3


	13. The Sun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which they fly too close to the Sun for the last time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> /!\ tw for violence, torture in this chapter

“I sure hope you’re going to replace my bike. It costed me an arm and one month pay to get it in the first place.”

The guy didn’t laugh, didn’t say anything. He didn’t seem to be fully receptive to Shane’s incredible sense of humour. Well, as his mother always said, laughter is the best medicine. Especially when your pink bike had two flat tires, punctured by a shady-looking guy waiting for you in his car, next to said pink bike.

Shane couldn’t escape. Couldn’t even grab his bike and pedal. Internally, he was boiling with anxiety. Stressing out, hard. Thinking about what was about to happen. Thinking about Ryan. Thinking about what happened when he was a young detective investigating the Henderson case and had been caught in the same fashion. Speaking about his goddamn bike was a way of coping with his inevitable fate. Of forgetting.

“Or at least buy me new tires, y’know. Being a private detective doesn’t-”

“God, shut up”, the guy finally grumbled, hands tightening on the steering wheel. “You’re insufferable.”

“I mean, you’re not too nice either. That was a fine bike.”

The Sun casted an annoyed glance in the interior rear view mirror, meeting Shane’s eyes for a brief moment.

“See what I did to your bike? What if we went and did the same to your little friend?”

Shane went stiff. Of course the Sun knew where Ryan was. He was taking the road to their apartments as if he lived there. Didn’t even need Shane to guide him or anything.

“Ryan doesn’t have tires to be punctured, sorry to disappoint.”

_Be calm and composed, Shane. Your voice must not tremble and reveal you’re terrified of what he could do do to him. You must make him believe you’ve got everything under control, when really you’re the one being kidnapped._

“Oh, I’m sure the Minotaur has a vivid imagination for things he could do to him.”

_The what now?_

Shane didn’t have time to suppress the dumb look that printed itself on his face. There was another killer associated with that guy?

The detective felt like he was coming back to Earth with a bump. He would never have believed there were more than one jerk behind these crimes.

The car came to a stop. They were here, Shane could see their building just in front of the windshield. _Fuck._

This was humiliating. The detective caught by the killer, forced to enter his car and follow him around… Shane felt like he was stuck in a bad giallo, he felt the hand of the Sun tighten on his shoulder. How humiliating and low for him to show which one out of all these doors was Ryan’s. He hated himself for being the one that basically led the killer to Ryan. He was the one that offered Ryan to their hands.

But with a gun cocked to his back, there was little he could do beside obeying.

“If you try something funny, I’ll blow a hole in that smart brain of yours”, the killer warned him with a calm voice. Too calm for the circumstances.

Shane’s whole body was shaking as he went for the doorknob. He sent multiple prayers to whatever God was listening to him right now for Ryan to be safe. To be elsewhere. Anywhere really, but not in his own apartment.

The only thing Shane could hear was his own crazy heartbeat in his temples. It was quiet. Too quiet. Shane didn’t like it, and neither did the Sun, apparently.

“Lucas!”, he barked, pushing Shane further into Ryan’s small apartment. “Where are you, you fuckin’ bastard?”

Shane was the first to enter the living room, and it was with great effort that he restrained himself from running to Ryan when he saw him sitting against the wall, tied so that he couldn’t move a single finger. Yet his heart jumped and was crushed against the wall of his chest at the sight of Ryan’s tumefied face. The other guy had beaten him like a punching ball. His nose was bleeding, probably broken for minutes now. His head was bowed as if he was asleep; he only saw Shane when he seemed to hear him pacing into the room.

The look on his face. If Shane’s heart wasn’t already broken enough, it would break all over again. His split lips moved as if to utter his name, but no words escaped his mouth. He looked as heartbroken as Shane to see him standing there. In one shared glance, they both knew.

The other guy looked like a bulldog on Xanax. He was slumped in the sofa, smoking the end of a joint.

“Get up, dirtbag!”

“Don’t fucking start with me”, he whined, getting up slowly.

“You took your time! I was beginning to think you’d lost him or somethin’!”

Without a warning, Shane was violently pushed to his knees. If he rushed to Ryan’s aid to untie him, he’d be shot down in an instant. He couldn’t do anything but look at every injury on his face and body. Every injury was his fault. Every drop of blood on the floor of Ryan’s apartment. But it wasn’t too late to try and save him. He was his priority. Even if Shane didn’t make it, it wouldn’t matter because Ryan would.

_Think, Madej, think. Think of something. Use that big brain of yours._

The guys were arguing loudly, Shane had a little time. Unlike his hands, Ryan’s feet weren’t tied. The guy hadn’t done a good job, luckily; Ryan had a chance to escape if Shane could only distract the two guys.

“Nice, you got us both”, he exclaimed, raising his chin to look at the Sun and the… Minotaur? Yeah, he sure looked like a Minotaur. “What are you gonna do now? Kill us both silently? Get rid of the pesky roaches?”

“That one never shuts up”, the Sun informed the other with a roll of his eyes. “Tie him too. And get him a gag, I’m tired of hearing him babbling. Also, you got a cig for me?”

 

* * *

 

 

The little one almost screamed louder than the lanky one, despite the fact he wasn’t even the one being burned. He mostly screamed at Jimmy to “stop”, he screamed the detective’s name again and again. As if this was going to change anything.

It only made Jimmy laugh more and more as he pressed his cigarette into Icarus’ arms. _Burn his wings, so that he won’t fly ever again._ This was something he loved to do, because the burn left blistering marks. At first, the detective tried to conceal the ache, he really did; but now he was whimpering and biting on his gag as Jimmy burnt him over and over with cigarettes.

Next to him, Luke sighed.

“This was the last cig. You really owe me big time, Jimmy. You’re wasting them when they could be smoked.”

“I don’t waste them!” he exclaimed, throwing the last one on the floor, next to Daedalus. He didn’t even flinch. He was focused on Shane. “We’re having fun, remember?”

“Then why not just film it? This is so stupid! Can’t you at least torture him with your fists, like a man? These cigs costed me money! Money that I could be spending on weed, but no, Sunny boy wants to burn his victims!”

Jimmy remained silent, but he looked like a ticking bomb ready to blow the whole apartment

“You’re wasting our time too, playing with your puppets when we could be-”

“SHUT UP!” Jimmy exploded, pushing Luke against the wall behind him. “Shut up.”

He turned to Shane, who was panting, tears of pain in his eyes. In Ryan’s there was only anger and fury directed at Jimmy. He stared at him like a dog ready to jump at his throat. Seething. Seeking revenge. Jimmy loved that. He wanted to pinch his cheek to add to the humiliation, but Ryan could have bitten him, and Jimmy definitely needed his fingers.

“You wanted to know what’s gonna happen next, didn’t you, Icarus? You too, Daedalus? Well hear me out loud and clear. Both of you will have a special role in this game. You wanted it so much, well now you have it!”

He crouched to be at Shane and Ryan’s level. They had gotten closer to each other while he and Luke were talking, until their shoulders were pressed against each other. Truly pathetic. Protecting each other.

“Daedalus, I truly admire your work. In fact, I am probably your biggest fan. And I see you’re also a big fan of my work.”

“I’m not a fan of your ‘work’, you psycho!”, he bit back, bravely enough to defy his stare.

Anger was giving him more courage than what Jimmy had seen since the beginning of this game. He ignored this answer and kept on talking.

“So I say: why don’t we exchange places? You love being in the minds of criminals, don’t you? You should love actually being one.”

Ryan's eyes shone with a different light. Suddenly, he had understood what Jimmy meant. He was smart, this he already knew.

Jimmy grabbed a fistful of Shane’s hair, bringing his head forward. Ryan immediately let go of his stare to look at Shane. Now there was fear in his eyes. _So easy to manipulate._

“Please don’t. Don’t hurt him.”

He looked ready to do anything. Anything to save his friend’s life. And to think he’d be the one accused of killing Detective Shane Madej…

“You’re the one who killed him”, Jimmy said flatly. “You were the Hacker all along, Ryan Bergara.”

His brown eyes widened. Next to him, the detective began to thrash, trying to liberate himself from Jimmy’s grip.

“You were the one who killed the farm girl, the dude on Clemens Hike, and the Black Dahlia look-alike. Then you played the part of the radio host making parallels with famous murders. It makes sense, when you think of it. You knew the murders better than anyone because you were the one committing them.”

“No, no- No one will believe I’m the killer!” Ryan cried out. “I won’t let them-”

“Oh, but you won’t have a say in the matter”, Luke chimed in, crouching too. “You committed suicide when you understood killing the detective was going to sign your death sentence.”

It seemed to sink in both of their minds. What this all meant. What was going to happen next.

"No! NO! They'll know you did this! They'll know-"

"Shut your mouth!" Lucas barked.

Jimmy stood from his crouching position, bringing the detective with him. Without saying anything, Lucas passed him the blade.

“Don’t fuck this up. I know you love taking your time, but-”

“Don’t tell me what to do.”, Jimmy answered abruptly. “Keep an eye on Daedalus. I want him to hear his friend die.”

Ryan immediately began shouting at him to “let go of Shane”, to “stop and come back”, to “not do this”. Desperation tainted his broken voice. Jimmy didn’t know how he could still have it in him to scream so loud, when that was all he had been doing while he was torturing his detective friend. But screaming, shouting, writhing would do nothing good. Only alert everyone in the building.

The detective seemed to have understood this, as his head was lowered in resignation. He couldn’t say anything anyway, with the gag on his mouth. Only look at Ryan one last time.

_When you got too close to the Sun, you had what you deserved._

Jimmy pushed him in the bathroom and played with the knife in his hands, looking at the mirror. There were articles, pictures… Ryan Bergara was truly passionate about his work.

The detective’s wet eyes were on the blade, and his breathing was erratic. Don’t worry, it will all be over soon. But this was a lie. Jimmy wanted to see the life leave his eyes slowly, he wanted to make him scream. To hell with being discreet. This was gonna be fun. He had never killed a detective before.

“What will he say, huh?”

The detective raised his eyes to meet his glare.

“When we show him your corpse?”

The sound of the doorbell ringing made both of them jolt. Someone was at the door.


	14. The Jehovah's Witnesses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which a helping hand is definitely needed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> short and quick chapter cause i've been hella busy. next one will be the last one,,,

_(Some minutes ago)_

Sara knocked on the door only once, but loudly enough for Ryan Steven Bergara to hear her from across his apartment.

And possibly Shane. He had texted her that he would be at Ryan’s before leaving her with a very cryptic message only indicating a name.

_Oh, Shane Alexander Madej, the things I do for your sorry ass..._

She had spared no time. She went straight to the first door of the floor Shane had mentioned in his texts. Even though she didn’t even know what the guy actually looked like.

But at least she knew that Ryan Bergara wasn’t an old man with curly grey hair and a knitted purple pull-over, with cats surrounding him. One of them was black, with a deep green stare. Almost intimidating. Another one looked like her Obi.

“Hello sir, I’m looking for a Ryan Bergara”, she told him, just in case.

“Oh, you got the wrong person, Ma’am”, he answered with a gentle crinkled smile. “Ryan’s my neighbour. I’m Fabrizio Bianchi.”

“Sara Rubin. I’m uh. A friend of Ryan.”

This was way easier than explaining that her best friend leading an investigation was possibly living in his neighbour’s apartment.

“Oh then you might know what’s going on with him.”

His tone had changed. Concern tainted his voice now.

“What do you mean?”

“See, the thing is that he’s been stalked for some time, and I’m worried for the poor boy. And today I swear that I could hear… weird noises coming from his apartment.”

The old man scrunched his nose, thinking with a grave look on his wrinkled face. Curiosity was now holding Sara with a vice-like grip.

_Weird noises, huh? I’d rather not know what kind of noises, thank you very much, innocent old man. But good for that love-struck Madej who’s been pining for his neighbour for months._

“A stalker, you say?”

She had a little idea of who that stalker could be.

“I knew his radio show would get him in trouble… I began listening to it and I never should have told him about the Hacker…”

_Wait._

“You know the Hacker’s case, Mister Bianchi?”

He looked utterly surprised she would even ask such a question.

“I love crime-related shows. So when Ryan told me he did his own investigation with a real detective and kept on doing his radio shows, I was really-”

“You talked about ‘weird noises’, Mister Bianchi. What kind of ‘weird noises’?”, she interrupted him.

“Well, it was some minutes ago, it was like someone was punching through a wall or something… I know that he works out, but I didn’t know… And most importantly, I thought I heard him scream… I didn’t really think anything of it at the time, because he probably watches horror films or- ”

Sara froze. Fuck, that wasn’t good. The little old man looked truly lost in all of these pieces of information, as if he couldn’t imagine that his neighbour could be assassinated by the Hacker at the moment, just right next to him. Maybe the possibility of it happening had come to his mind, but now he seemed to try and find rational explanations to very strange happenings.

“I was about to go check on him when you knocked on my door.”

He wasn’t lying. The poor old man had put on his shoes, his pull-over and had a box of cookies in his hand.

“We could go check on him together, if you want. I’m a private detective.”

His eyes went wide with awe, like he was a young boy meeting Santa Claus.

“Well… What are we waiting for?”

 

This time, Mr Bianchi was the one to knock on the door. The right door. He knocked politely, but loudly enough to be heard. Just like Sara.

Speaking of him, he was the same size as her, a small old man. It changed from her previous wingman tall lanky Shane.

For some time, there was only silence. No one seemed to be coming to answer at the door. Sara and Mr Bianchi looked at each other, then he asked in a firm but kind voice:

“Ryan? You here?”

Muffled voices came from inside, but it was totally incomprehensible. Then, steps to the door.

“Yes, who’s asking?”

Sara didn’t know how Ryan looked, sure, and Shane had told her he had some abs on him, but she knew how he sounded. She had heard him on the radio. And this was not his voice.

The door had opened on a tall guy, a bull with a low raspy voice. Even if she couldn’t really turn to look at Mr Bianchi’s reaction, given he was the one knowing Ryan, she could see from the corner of her eye his usual smile falter. She was right, this was not Ryan Steven Bergara. But he looked determined as hell to make them believe he was.

The silence between all of them was beginning to last a little long.

“Who are you?”

Sara had to analyse the situation and pick the best option. Ryan was probably inside. If he wasn’t, she had not so much hope of finding him alive. Shane wouldn’t answer her previous texts, so he was also inside. Her mind was running wild, focusing on how to proceed. Confront this guy? He had tiny specks of blood on his shirt. And Mr Bianchi was with her. She couldn’t risk both of their lives when she didn’t know how many there were inside or if the guy was armed at all.

“We’re Jehovah’s witnesses”, Mr Bianchi finally answered, his tone not even betraying how scared he probably was. But Sara could see that he was shaking like a leaf. “Would you have a minute?”

Sara chimed in to back him up immediately.

“Yes, we would like to talk to you about our lord and saviour Je-”

The door closed on them with a bang.

Sara grabbed the old man and walked him a few feet away. Then, she turned to him and whispered:

“I’m going to call for backup. You, go back to your home and don’t leave it, you hear me?”

 

* * *

 

 

“Who was it?”

“Fucking Jehovah’s witnesses.” Lucas replied, sounding as annoyed as can be. “It’s alright, they understood that I had no time to give’ em.”

Ryan was thrashing with all of his force against the ties that were keeping him from running to the bathroom. Tears were escaping his eyes, but he didn’t even feel them rolling on his cheeks; all his energy was directed at Shane. But with Lucas in the room with him, this task proved to be nearly impossible. The Jehovah’s witnesses hadn’t been a long enough distraction for him to jump effectively on his feet and run to Shane.

Soon enough, sounds of struggle could be heard from the bathroom. Sounds of broken glass.

The Sun’s back had encountered violently the mirror, wiping away the research that Ryan had done. _Sorry, Ry’,_ Shane thought despite being i the middle of a fight for his life, _but at least now you have the face of the murdered pinned to your mirror._

The Sun’s smirk was truly terrifying. A wolf smiling at his prey, not caring if his own blood was about to drip. Smiling as Shane threw a punch at him, smiling at his fist encountered the glass instead of his face. Shane was fighting back with desperation, but he missed every punch and could only avoid the Sun’s, already knowing he would be the one to win. He was so, so tired, and everything hurt too much for him to fight back. So he wasn’t really surprised when the blade finally caught him in the ribs.

For some seconds, he swayed on his feet, before the Sun got the blade out of his stomach. He fell just like in a bad movie, slowly, huffing in pain, trying to breathe. The pain was too great, he couldn’t stand. Looking up, he saw the Sun’s stupid little smile and knew he was officially so dead. He was going to finish him for sure.

And then he’d go do the same to Ryan. _No. Not Ryan._ As the Sun turned on his heels to go out of the bathroom, the only thing Shane could do was gripping his pants and leaving a dark smear on it. That’s when he realized his blood was staining the cold tiles of the bathroom, and his hands, and his shirt. _Yeah, especially his shirt. Why was his shirt always stained by something? That one was ruined for sure._

_I should probably put some pressure on that._

But no, he needed to stop him from reaching Ryan, even if this was the last thing he did. The Sun didn’t even bother too much: he removed this weak grip with a harsh movement of his leg.

“Please… Don’t.”

“You look miserable, now, Icarus, but this is what you get. A slow death.”

Shane watched, unable to move, act or even say something, as the Sun got out, covered in his blood. The last thing he heard before he fainted, was the horrified scream that Ryan let out.

 

* * *

 

 

The rest was a blur, maybe a dream. Probably more of a nightmare Ryan would probably awaken from at any moment now. Right. He would wake up in his own bed, looking for Shane in his apartment and find him preparing coffee and humming _Mamma Mia._

And nothing out of these traumatic events would have happened. Nothing felt real anyway.

Lucas untying him to kill him and make it look like a suicide, the blood stain on the Sun, the realization of the fact that Shane was dead and truly dead, the screams that they had to ‘come outside with their hands raised and in view’, the door literally exploding and gunshots catching the whole room. Ryan had become pretty much detached from everything surrounding him as soon as Shane had disappeared from the room. Now, even though police had entered the room and burst the door down, engaging gunfire with both Lucas and Jimmy, he hadn’t moved a single finger, looking at the bloody steps on the floor. Knowing that this was Shane’s blood.

He didn’t even move at first when the bathroom door slowly opened, revealing a very pale detective crawling to him.

Then he moved, crawling as well to Shane, without even thinking about what was going on.

Everything hurt, but at least he was untied. He could hold Shane in his arms. He could hold him and make sure this was real. Gather in close, clutch him and never let him go again.

He could feel his breath on his exposed neck.

The detective looked like a ghost. He probably was one. In Ryan’s broken mind, Shane Madej was dead. But his hands on his cheeks, and his tired smile, and his weak breathing, and his heartbeat… All of this screamed that he was alive.

He could only hug him as tight as he could, as if he was going to disappear again. Ryan didn’t even hear half of what Shane was trying to say to him, or the noises surrounding him. Didn’t see the police officers or the Sun or the Minotaur. Only Shane.

In his ear, the detective whispered to him that everything would be fine.


	15. Camus and Sartre

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which his voice is on the radio in the right way.

“Coffee?” Ryan’s lively voice rang from the kitchen of Shane’s apartment.

“Oh yeah, that sounds like a great idea.”

Shane tried to sit up in bed and immediately gave up, only repositioning himself against the pillows.

His own voice was still a bit raspy and low from disuse, and it reminded him of that time where he was bedridden for a whole week, after the Henderson case. In fact, a lot of things were similar. The medicine, the slow pace to go to the bathroom or even get dressed… The pain in his side was far greater though, and he didn’t stay at home for psychological damages only. That son of a bitch had stabbed him in the guts, yes, but not enough to reach vital organs or put his life in great danger. Jimmy was going to spend his life behind bars. His friend Minotaur too. So, things could have been definitely worse.

Nevertheless, it hurt like a bitch whenever Shane had to do something, and he’d stayed in the hospital the first days, mostly sleeping while Ryan dozed off at his side, head on the mattress, their fingers intertwined.

Just thinking about it, Shane could almost smell the aseptic scent of his blanket there. Blergh. He was happy to leave this place.

But he was definitely happy to leave because seeing Ryan like this was not pleasant at all, to say the least.

Nobody could separate the two of them. A nurse tried to, but quickly understood that Ryan desperately needed to be at Shane’s side, even if he recovered from wounds himself. It was pretty clear that his mental state had been hit as well, and it teared Shane apart just to think about it. It was like looking into a mirror. Back to the Henderson case.

The strong smell of coffee interrupted his train of thought. Ryan was back with two mugs and a smile on his face.

“I put a bit of milk in it. I hope it’s fine.”

Ryan still moved slowly. Broken ribs, bruises and cuts… Shane felt really bad about leaving him to do most things. But Ryan insisted that he shouldn’t get up.

“It is”, he replied with a soft smile blooming on his lips. “Thank you, Ry.”

That little blush on his cheeks, that crinkle near his brown eyes. Sometimes, Shane thought he was in Heaven when he looked at Ryan for too long. Also, he was becoming too cheesy. But considered how they both had been in literal Hell, he thought Ryan and himself were probably allowed to enjoy a bit of quiet, tender moments.

Also, his coffee was way better than Shane’s. So this was a win-win situation to have him here at all times. Shane wanted to bask in his scent and his embrace forever. To hold him tight against his chest despite the pain, to see his face in front of his.

“Okay now leave me some space.”

Shane sat up completely in bed, not without great effort even though Ryan helped. If his wound bled again, he’d have to return to the hospital and that was something he truly wanted to avoid. Now that he was back home with Ryan, he didn’t want to lose this intimacy, this comfort that they didn’t have in the hospital.

 

Ryan put his head on Shane’s shoulder, slumping against him and slipping under the blankets. He was warm, the milky coffee was warm, and Shane was warm too. He had never been more comfortable than in this particular moment, and felt that this was undoubtedly related to having Ryan so close. Soft snores were coming from the smaller man, he was dozing off on Shane’s shoulder. The mug was on the bed table, abandoned.

Shane hesitated to wake him up. Ryan was as constantly exhausted as him.

So he only ran his hand in his hair softly, humming as he did so.

“I have something for you.”

Oh. So Ryan wasn’t really napping on Shane.

Suddenly the weight on his shoulder had disappeared and Ryan had left the room, only to return with something in his arms. A transparent bag.

“What is it?”

“You mean, ‘ _ Who _ is it?’ Well, I found a friend for Camus. Meet Sartre.”

Shane couldn’t believe his eyes.  _ So this was why Ryan was so secretive all day. _

He had gone and bought a new goldfish. Unlike Camus, this one was mostly deep blue, with red fins. It was another  _ Betta Splendens _ .

“Ryan, you genius!”

Shane was like an excited kid on the day after Christmas in front of this new fish, opening big presents and letting out little screams of admiration. Still smiling brightly, Ryan was watching him talk to this fish as if it were his baby.

“We should put him with Camus immediately! Oh they have to be friends.”

Then, he stopped, looking thoughtful.

“Wait. Betta Splendens are also called Siamese fighting fishes. You sure this is a good idea?”

“Don’t worry, I looked it up. They can fight each other to the death if they’re both aggressive.”

Shane looked at him, a bit paler than before.

“Wait, I don’t want Sartre killing Camus! I know their relationship was a bit tumultuous near the end, but-”

“Don’t worry, this one’s a calm one. The question is, is Camus aggressive?”

“Well, the real Camus was a pacifist. As for the real one… He never attacked me when I fed him? So frankly I don’t know.”

Ryan nodded slowly.

“We should try then. And if we feel they’re about to fight each other, we’ll separate them.”

“You’ll have bought a fish for nothing... Are you sure this is a male fish? How does one know if goldfishes are males or females? Gosh I never asked myself this question before… Ow!”

Shane had gotten up too fast and was now clutching his side, his face a grimace of pain.

“Easy, Shane! Let me help you up.”

He had to accept throwing one arm across Ryan’s shoulder and put most of his weight on him. Losing a lot of blood had that effect on you; you couldn’t go sprinting and jumping around in your own apartment anymore.

 

As Ryan led Shane to his -  _ their,  _ someday he’d get it right, but right now it felt unreal - kitchen, he couldn’t help but notice as he still did sometimes the burn marks on the skin of his arms. Fresh scars that would probably never go away. Just looking at it made Ryan sick in his stomach. Made him think about the agonizing pain they had both suffered in what was now his former apartment.

Ryan just couldn’t go back to it. He had tried to, he really wanted to be strong, but he had failed to enter it without immediately having a panic attack. Everything in there reminded him of the torture it had been. The living room, where he was tied and forced to watch them burn Shane. The bathroom, especially, where the detective had almost died.

Thankfully, Shane was there; he was always there. And he had offered him to stay in his apartment instead. 

And upon entering what would become his new apartment, Ryan just knew. Knew that as long as Shane was by his side, he could call this place home.

“Okay, let’s make them meet!”

Sartre was added to the bowl. The two Betta Splendens didn’t even collide once or even try to fight; Camus just seemed surprised to have to share his gigantic bowl. He just got used to it quickly. And Sartre didn’t seem exactly bothered to finally leave his little bag.

Shane sagged a bit against Ryan, who immediately helped him to sit on a chair near the table. He still looked so, so tired; the bags under his eyes spoke for themselves. It broke Ryan to stare at them. It reminded him of their stay in the hospital.

Having to stare at a pale copy of Shane, asleep for hours, covered in bandages. To look at Sara, his coworker, in the arms of his brother, crying. Having to stay at his side, waiting and hurting.

Their hands remained in each other, and Shane pressed Ryan’s.

“They look a bit like us, don’t you think?”

“Who, Camus and Sartre?” Ryan replied, a little bit of tease in his voice.

“Don’t make fun of me, it’s true. Instead of fighting, they seem better off together, like a team.”

“So now you’re the one saying we’re a team?”

“Shut up” Shane bit back, but it was light-hearted. He had said it with a wink. “At least, we were. I’ll have to wait a bit before I can go back to being a detective.”

“We could be a different team.”

Shane raised his gentle curious eyes to look at Ryan.  _ What did he mean? They already were a team in the daily, just by existing together, at the same place. Shane found his energy in Ryan, and Ryan, in Shane. _

“Ever wanted to hear your voice on the radio?”

Shane froze when he understood what Ryan was truly saying.

“What are you talking about, Ry? My voice was on the radio ever since I heard yours.”

“No, you idiot. I’m talking about you, joining me on the show. As a co-host.”

He blushed while saying it, as if he had wanted to avoid it slipping on his lips. There was silence between the two of them. A long silence.

It wasn’t unease, or true surprise. It felt natural.

Then, Shane said:

“Why not?”

 

* * *

 

 

"It’s Friday eleven PM and you’re on 104,8 fm, that can only mean one thing: welcome back on Radio Unsolved! This is Ryan Bergara, host of your favorite show, Unsolved: True Crime, aka the only show where theory rhymes with conspiracy."

_ Oh, it felt so good to say these lines again.  _ Ryan was in his element here. In front of the mic, checking the tweets people were sending his way, reading his script next to his research. Camus and Sartre were having fun floating in their bowl on the table.

“Tonight, the show welcomes a co-host, Shane! If you’re from way back, you may recall him as the jerk calling to deny the truth.”

“Deny the truth?”

Next to him, Shane almost spat his milky coffee on the table and Ryan’s precious research.

“Excuse me, Ry- I mean, dear co-host, but if someone here is denying the truth, it’s absolutely not me.”

“Yeah, yeah, if you say so.”

“Y’know, I only agreed to be your co-host because your show desperately needed someone rational.”

“I am rational!”

Shane’s smug smile had returned, and Ryan was surprised to realize that he had missed it. Some weeks ago, he’d have despised it and probably tried to wipe it off Shane’s obnoxious face. Now he was happy to see it; it meant Shane was back. The Shane he had known first. Not the pale copy of him sleeping in a hospital bed.

“What do you think, Ry?”

He came back to Earth where he was, in their apartment, seated at Shane’s left, facing their fishes.

“Guys, I think this was a bad idea… I’m already boring our dear Ryan Steven Bergara to death!”

Ryan laughed, taking Shane’s hand in his. Something the listeners could never see.

“You could never, with that stupid big mouth of yours.”

“Should I take this as a compliment, or?”

And Ryan had never been happier to hear Shane’s voice on the radio.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well, friends, this is the end of YVOR! i still can't believe i wrote this story from beginning to end, im more the kind that gives up after 4 chapters...  
> if you liked this story you can always come scream at me in dms or on my tumblr @insomniz  
> and if you wanna read another story where i torture mercilessly the boys, i'm currently writing Nel Mezzo del Cammin!  
> peace on you <3


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